Welcome to Prisneyland
by Jeffrey-Damn-Her
Summary: RE-WRITE Kurea Nakamura killed a man, and willingly accepted the consequences. There are problems surrounding her incarceration, and she ends up imprisoned in Fox River Penitentiary,posing as a man. T-BagOC & MichaelOC. M for violence and Language
1. A Girl Called Ray

People seem to think that it takes a special kind of person to commit a murder, a criminal, a psychopath, someone with no emotion, someone who is sadistic and cruel, someone who truly does not care about human life.

But is that what it really takes? Do you really have to be that special to stop a heart? To draw out a person's last breath? Maybe it's the opposite of what everyone thinks, maybe it takes someone who feels too much, who is too in touch with every single spark of pain within the world, who cares so deeply, so truly, about human life that they like to remind themselves and everyone else of it's importance, of the power that it can hold over us all.

Maybe that's not the case at all, maybe we over-dramatize it, over-think it. Maybe when it comes down to it I'm just a person who took it a step too far.

* * *

><p>Handcuffs hurt, I come to that conclusion quickly. Their metal bites into my skin as I sit and glance around the small empty room. A table is sitting in front of me, a tape recorder sitting on top of it, the words that had just flowed from my lips encoded in the dark strips inside the plastic casing. It had been a statement uninhibited by lies, by self-preservation. Each word was as honest as I could physically manage, and the policemen had listened in horror, their mouths hanging open, their eyes wide. There was a sympathy behind them though as they heard my motivations. There was some twisted logic there, a sense of justice that they could appreciate.<p>

"Excuse me?" I glance up, my face expressionless, drained of any emotion. It was all gone - the anger, the upset, the outrage, it had vanished, leaving me as an apathetic shell. I raise my eyebrows as I see a man in a suit, with speckled grey hair and frown lines.

He narrows his eyes, "Miss Nakamura?" I nod slowly as he steps inside and closes the door shut behind him, walking around the desk and sitting down across from me. I am a sorry sight, and I can see my appearance is throwing him off, his brows furrow as he studies the blood caked onto the skin of my arms, drying into the fabric of my t-shirt. He clears his throat, attempting to ignore the vacancy behind my eyes and the scratch marks on my neck, "so, you waived your right to an attorney."

"Yes," I nod towards the tape recorder, "I just told them everything."

He nods in reply, obviously having been informed of this before he came to speak to me, "Well, your case will probably be a difficult one then..." I frown, not following, "an impossible one..."

"Of course it's impossible. I did it," I tell him, "That's it. The end."

"It's not that cut and dry, we could get you off with manslaughter -"

"Whatever they charge me with, I'm pleading guilty to." I cut him off with a dead certainty to my voice.

He shakes his head, his dull, blue eyes suddenly filled with desperation. My crime was brutal, it was bloody, I am wearing the evidence of my own violence all over me, and yet this man sitting in front of me wants to save me. I do not want to be saved.

"We can get the jury on your side," he is refusing to listen, he taps the surface of the tape recorder adamantly, "Once they hear your reasoning, your testimony... you might be able to get a reduced sentence, maybe an insanity plea, we could possibly clear your name - "

"I'm tired." I interject, and the evidence is in the tone of my voice. He purses his lips together, meeting my eyes which are wide with insistence, "I killed a man. A man who deserves to be dead. People may sympathize with me, they might even agree morally with what I did, but I broke the law, and I deserve whatever I get. I deserve to go to prison. I don't want to fight. I just want this to be over."

He nods again slowly, taking in my words, assessing my competence in silence. He then lets out a sigh, and I know what is coming next, "You want to go to prison..." He mumbles, and runs a hand through his hair, leaning against the table. He knows the problem now, he knows that despite my guilt, despite my compliance, this is going to be the furthest thing from straight forward, "That might be a little more difficult than expected."

* * *

><p>I catch my reflection in the window of the bus, and I flinch. I look haggard, I look too thin, the circles under my eyes betray the countless sleepless nights that have passed over the previous months of court appointments and jail cells. And my hair. I want to reach up and touch it, and instinctively I move to do so, feeling the handcuffs fighting against my flesh as they tug on the chains connecting me to my seat, preventing me from moving my limbs. I sigh, and study the cut in the murky reflection. I had flinched as they dragged the electric razor across my scalp, leaving me with nothing but a buzz cut, and now as I look at it, I know that it's changed me. I am no longer myself, I am a character, a criminal with a Y chromosome.<p>

I feel the bus rattle to a shaky stop and glance through the window this time, seeing the large wire mesh fences, the old, brick building which I would learn to call home. The guards in the front of the bus stand up, pulling keys out of their pockets to free us long enough to get us to our prison cells. "We're here," one of them calls, "You'll be kept in handcuffs until you're processed, you'll be assigned to your cell block and shown to your new luxury accommodation." He announces, going through the passengers and removing the chains connecting them to their seats.

I sit up straight, trying to remember the correct posture, the body language, mentally recalling the gruffness I'd assigned to my voice so I would be able to melt into the background and call no undue attention to myself. The guard hesitates in front of me, his eyes scanning my frame, and a twisted smile forms on his lips, "Well, they're gonna love you." He snorts as he undoes my chains. I quickly retract my hands, freeing myself, my jaw clenching as I glare up at him through narrowed eyes.

"What the hell you getting at?" I spit out, I have learnt that aggression is the quickest way to erase suspicion, to remove any sort of hint that underneath the binding, the shaved head, the hollow cheeks, is a vulnerable little girl.

"I mean they're gonna eat you alive." He laughs back. He is unaware of what I am, and grabs me by the arm, raising me to my feet. "You're skin and bones and half their size, do the math." He snarls as he pushes me towards the front of the bus. I try and find my footing, stumbling slightly as I make my way down the steps of the bus and out into the crisp Illinois air.

I turn and see the wire mesh fencing that borders the yard, and the fear that I feel is palpable, it has spread through each of the new arrivals, their muscles tensing, their breath still in their lungs. They can see what I see, the men surveying us, leaning against the fence with their eyes studying each of us in turn, deciding who is a threat, who might be valuable, and who will be easy to take advantage of.

"Nakamura!" my surname is called and I turn to see another guard standing a few feet away, motioning for me to follow him. I clear my throat, shuffling towards him reluctantly, "You got a meeting with the warden, he wants to see you before you're processed." He explains. I nod slowly, understanding. The guard starts to walk towards another entrance, a small wooden door set in the thick stone, and he turns to give me another glance, frowning with confusion, "You're not a snitch, are ya?"

"No." I growl defensively. He raises his hands, letting out a laugh.

"Sorry, sorry, just askin'. It's rare that a prisoner gets an audience with the governor before they're even in their prison blues, that's all I'm sayin'." he explains, but it does nothing to reassure me. He takes me inside, and I take in the winding corridors and sliding metal barred doors with wide eyes, this place is old, it is filled with the shouts of angry men, and is not welcoming in any sense. I feel my body tense again as I take a seat in a small office which I assume is the waiting room for the Warden. A woman sits at a desk opposite me, flashing me a smile as she picks up the phone and starts pushing a few numbers. She nods curtly before hanging up.

"The Warden will see you now." She tells me, and I am on my feet again, walking into a respectable looking office, filled with tall book cases and antique furniture.

"You can leave us," I hear a voice say and turn to my right to see an older man with a white mustache speak to the guard who stands by my side. The guard nods, throwing me a warning glance before retreating out of the room. I let out a sigh as the Warden motions to a chair seated across an old, mahogany desk, "Please, sit."

"Thanks," I mumble as I step forward and take the weight of my feet, feeling my stomach turn in apprehension as he takes the seat opposite me, his face gravely serious.

"So, Miss Nakamura, you've put us in an awkward position." I nod, feeling an odd sense of guilt, "But we do understand that you can't be kept in Belleview... and for similar reasons it's difficult to transfer you out of state," he tells me, and I nod.

"My sister has ongoing appeals," I explain, my voice retreating back to the comfortable softness that I am used to, "I'm the state's key witness, they prefer me to be close at hand in case I'm needed."

"And you're okay with this?" The Warden asks, his eyebrows raised, "You're okay with staying in Fox River, considering all of the risks."

"It's kind of my only choice," I admit reluctantly, and his face softens. Not many women would willingly incarcerate themselves in a high security male prison, being locked up with rapists and murderers, "There are risks... but to be honest I'm much more comfortable with the risks here than the risks in Belleview, and the prospect of my sister being released... I need to stay here. I need to be here," I tell him decisively.

"Well, I can't argue with that," He admits, "you're a brave girl." I try and smile, but I'm aware that it's not bravery that I'm showing, it's a warped delusion of justice, of the greater good, and a profound lack of concern for my own safety, "Now, there'll be some security measures we'll have to implement. You will not have a cellmate, for obvious reasons, you will also be given a seperate shower time to all the other prisoners, and I'll also choose a specific handful of guards - who I can trust - and inform them of who you are, your situation, and they will keep a close eye on you," I could see him chewing gently on his bottom lip as he opened a file that sat on the table in front of him, producing a slip of paper and pushing it towards me. I raise my cuffed hands and take it from him, reading the words which seemed to swim together into one huge pool of legal terminology, "I know that you are stripped of a number of your rights as a prisoner, but this here just covers all of our bases, so you're aware of the risks that come with your stay here." I nod slowly, seeing him offering me a pen, and take it from him, scrawling my name across the bottom.

_Kurea Nakamura._

"Thanks," I mumble, handing it back over to him. He glances down at the page, nodding, satisfied, and places it back in the file.

"So, I suppose the last thing you need to decide is on a name," he tells me. I raise my eyebrows.

"A name?"

"Kurea might be uncommon enough to fool a number of inmates, but the majority of them will probably pick up on the femininity." I nod slowly, before shrugging.

"I don't actually go by Kurea usually," I admit. "So it shouldn't be a problem." I tell him as I rise to my feet.

The Warden frowns, "So what do I call you?"

"Ray." I say simply, "Call me Ray."


	2. Uncle Robbie

There is a loud buzzing sound which makes me flinch, and I glance at the large, metal bars in front of me as they slide out of the way, revealing the cavernous cell block behind it. I pause momentarily, feeling my stomach lurch with fear. I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to my right, seeing the guard that the Warden had assigned to me for this shift. He gives me a sharp nod, "You'll do fine." He tells me, and I try and throw him a shaky smile as if I believe him, but it falters.

I step into the cell block and immediately I change. I hunch my shoulders, I clench my jaw, and my mask is on. I am no longer the frightened girl, I am Ray, I am a man, I am a convicted killer. The guard grabs my upper arm aggressively, and I know that this is to keep up appearances, to make me seem like much more of a threat than I actually am.

The whole block is a live with noise, with shouts, laughs, crying, it is suffocating and deafening. I try my best not to allow the trepidation to creep on my face, and instead I focus on the stairs at the end of the hall, not looking to my left or right, not daring to provide myself with more reasons to be afraid.

"Woo!" A particularly shrill and loud cat call cuts through my consciousness, and I stiffen. The guard feels this, and he squeezes my arm, reminding me that I am almost there, "Fresh Meat!" the voice is slick, smooth, and southern. I feel a shiver crawl down my spine, and instinctively I stop, turning to look in the direction of the voice.

It is a mistake. I meet his eyes and his lips curl into a seductively predatory smirk. He is much older than me, with his hair springing back off his head, high cheekbones, the corners of his eyes creasing as they narrow. He runs his tongue across his lower lip and a feeling forms in my gut telling me that this man is dangerous. His arms are hanging limply through the bars of his cell, his stance lazy, casual, with all the confidence in the world.

I try and summon some courage, I open my mouth to spit back an angry retort, a defensive insult to establish the fact that I'm not someone to prey on, but I am unable to. I stand with my eyes locked on him, my entire body rigid. My breathing has stopped.

"Shut it, T-Bag!" The guard next to me yells, releasing my arm and stepping towards the cell, his posture dominant, threatening. The man, who I assume is T-Bag, continues to smile, but takes a step back, his arms falling back down round his sides.

"Sorry boss, couldn't help myself." He sighs, his eyes traveling the length of my body. Despite my flat chest, despite my narrow hips, despite the fact that in this moment I am stripped of all my femininity, I am still a prime target. I am small, I am pretty, I cannot fight back.

The guard returns to my side, grabbing my arm once again and pulling me roughly away from T-Bag's line of sight. I tear my eyes away from his cell. once again focusing on the stairs. My mind is racing, I am suddenly unsure of myself, of whether or not I will be able to survive in here, whether or not this was all worth it. And then I remember why I did it, I remember the look on his face when I plunged the knife into his chest, and I manage to pull my mask back on, I manage to cover the pit of terror bubbling in my gut with a misplaced sense of pride and reassurance. If I can kill a man, I can stick the consequences.

"Here you are." The guard announces as we come to a stop in front of an open cell. I glance in, seeing the stainless steel toilet, the sink, the table and the small bed. This my home now. I let out a sigh, stepping inside. I am on the second level, sandwiched in the middle of the three tiers. I am alone, a small grace that I am very grateful to have.

"Thanks." I mumble, reaching over to the bed and running my hand along the rough, scratchy grey blanket. I frown, but I was expecting this, this is prison, it is not a hotel.

"About that guy down there, T-Bag," The guard starts, and I glance up quickly, feeling the tug of fear in my chest, "if you can, stay away from him. He ain't good news."

"I'll do my best," I don't know if it's a promise I can keep, I am wise enough to know that in prison you have very little say over who and what you come into contact with. The guard hesitates for a moment, clearing his throat, glancing down the walkway before stepping into my cell.

"Look, if anyone gives you any trouble, just shout." He tells me. I sigh, sitting myself down on the edge of the bed, and shrug.

"Let's face it, the last thing I need is a reputation for being a rat." I suppose I had been indirectly educated about the reality of living within a prison through my sister, and specific rules had stuck in my head, "But thank you." I finish, hoping that he understands that, despite the fact that I am unable to take him up on the offer, I am grateful for it.

"No problem." He sighs, taking a step back. I glance at his badge, taking a mental note of his name. _Hudson._

He disappears from the door of my cell and it automatically closes, leaving me alone. I glance around, taking in the grey brick walls, the smell of steal and sweat. The noise hits me again, the shouting, the abuse, the whimpering. I wonder if I will ever get used to it as I lay down on my back across my bed, staring up at the white ceiling. It doesn't take long for me to find out, because before I can even attempt to make out the details of the shouts and whispers, I feel sleep tugging at me from behind my eyes, and I let myself drift off into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>T<em>he house was barren, the weeds in the front yard over grown, the paint peeling from the panels that lined the walls. It was raining, the cold, hard droplets of water stung against my face as I stared at the front door, trying to drown out the voice of reason that was screaming in my head, telling me to head back, telling me to save myself.<em>

_I stepped towards the door, feeling as if I was moving through water, with my hair dripping wet and my hands shaking. I raised a fist and brought it down hard against the wood, waiting for someone to answer, waiting for someone to prompt me to act. I glanced over my shoulder, seeing the empty street, and I wondered whether or not I could get away with this, whether I should even try._

_The door opened and I remember searching for a face and seeing none, until I glanced down and spotted the small, wide eyed girl peering through the crack. She had matted hair, and a filthy dress, her face wearing an expression that I had seen too many times before. I smiled at her, because she deserved to see someone who was friendly, who cared. She didn't smile back._

_"Hi, is your Uncle Robbie in?" I asked. She bit down on her lower lip and nodded slowly, "Could I please come in and talk to him? I'm an old friend." I explained. She didn't trust me, and that was a smart move on her part, but she opened the door anyway, letting me step into the worn down home that stank of damp._

_"He's in the kitchen." She told me, motioning to a door down the hallway. She was around 10 years old, and I guessed that with a good wash her hair would be some sort of golden colour. I crouched down, making sure my face was level with hers._

_"Me and your uncle need some privacy, so whatever you do, don't come into the kitchen, okay?" I whispered and she nodded. She must have been used to strange requests like these by now. I straightened up, staring at the door which she had pointed to, and made my way over to it. I paused before I stepped inside, glancing back at the girl, raising a finger to my lips, and gave her a curt nod._

_The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside was the stench of burnt grease. I was quiet enough that Uncle Robbie, who was hunched over a plate of what I assumed to be bacon and listening to a football game from a radio blasting from the counter top, had failed to hear me. I inhaled sharply, my lungs swelling with air as I reached behind me, into my back pocket, my hand wrapping around the handle of a blade._

_I walked over to him, his back towards me, his jaw moving up and down as he chewed ferociously on the food he was shoveling into his mouth. I pulled the knife from where I had concealed it, raising it in the air, my heart pounding in my ears. I was going to go through with it, there was no turning back now._

_He didn't notice I was there until I was right behind him, the knife raised high over my head. He turned slowly, and the expression on his face will never leave me, it was completely devoid of fear, just mild curiosity, unsure of what the noise he had heard was. It rapidly changed as he saw me, the determination on my features, the blade glinting beautifully in the dreary light pouring in from outside. He opened his mouth, probably to protest, to scream, to beg for his life._

_In that moment I saw her. Alex, my friend, my best friend, who I had grown up with, who had slept over in my room and shared secrets, who had giggled over boys with me, who had plaited my hair and pierced my ears. I saw her hanging, her feet limp and lifeless, the chair kicked out from under her. I remembered the nights where she would cry in my arms, detailing what this man in front of me had done to her. I remembered that thanks to this man, thanks to the untreatable scars he had left on the psyche of one of the most significant people in my life, she was no longer here. She had taken it open herself to end her own suffering. I was there to stop any he might inflict in the future._

_And I leant forward, brought the knife down and felt it slide through his flesh, cutting the skin, muscle, severing veins, scraping against bone. He hissed, I suppose that's the only real word to use to describe it, like air escaping from a tire. The knife was embedded deep in his torso, the handle protruding from his diaphragm with my hand still firmly around it, blood beginning to seep down the front of his shirt._

_I pulled it out, hearing the slick wet sound as blood began to flow more freely from the wound. He gasped, trying to suck air into his lungs as he fell from his seat, hitting the tiled floor. I gritted my teeth, the sight of blood spurring me on, and I was suddenly on top of him, bringing the knife down hard again into his chest as his hands reached out, scraping at my neck, my face, trying in vain to push me from on top of him. The lack of air was making him weak._

_"How does it feel?" I purred, the sadist in me rearing its nasty head. I pulled the blade out once more, and swung it down right at the base of his throat, making fresh blood spray past his lips. "Being fucked with metal?"_

* * *

><p>I wake up sucking a huge gulp of air into my lungs, beads of sweat sticking to my forehead. I glance around my cell, before running my hands over my torso, feeling the damp material of my clothes sticking to my skin. I look down to see that it is sweat, not blood, that is causing it. I notice that my face is damp, and raise my hands to my cheeks, and I know now that I have been crying in my sleep.<p>

It is only then that I notice it is dark, that I have slept through lights out, that the cell block is silent. I push myself up out of my bed, stepping over to the bars and sliding my arms through the gaps. It is nice like this, I decide, when you are able to hear yourself think, when the only real sound are the hushed whispers between cell mates and the silent breathing of sleeping prisoners.

I glance down at the lower tier, seeing a guard walking up and down, a small flashlight in his hand as he checks each cell. Suddenly the flashlight pours into on revealing a man leaning against the bars, his eyes trained on mine. It is T-Bag, and my breath catches in my throat as he smiles at me, giving me a curt nod, and I push myself away from the cell door, away from his line of sight, the relief that I had been feeling from waking quickly dissipating as the gravity of my situation hits me once more.


	3. Rubbing Shoulders

I stand in front of the mirror and examine my face, the lines of my jaw, the rise of my cheekbones, the curve of my lips. I let out a sigh as I raise a hand and run a hand over my hair, feeling the prickling sensation of the stubble that is all that I have left of the long mane that I used to be so proud of. I had sacrificed myself for revenge, and this was the substitute that I had been left with.

The cell doors are open and I can hear the men outside talking loudly. I have yet to leave my cell, I had fallen into an uneasy sleep last night after I had woken from the nightmare, from the memory of what had landed me here, and the guards had been kind enough to let me sleep through breakfast. My adjustment here would be interesting, I was already unsure about prison etiquette, about how socializing works, about whether or not I would survive if I spoke to anyone.

I hear the sound of a man clearing his throat and my heart rate increases. I slowly turn around to see a tall, much older prisoner leaning against the open cell door. His hair is long and greying, and there is several days worth of growth on his chin. I raise my eyebrows, hunching my shoulders, unsure of who he is.

"Yeah?" I grunt, deciding that the last thing I need to do is let my fear show.

"You're new." He states, and I nod.

"Yeah. You're observant." I mutter, knowing that I am deliberately being blunt. The more I speak, the higher chance of me slipping up and showing my true colors.

"I am." He has an accent, one I can't quite place, but it's european, "And I can't help but notice that you're getting all this special treatment." He motions to the cell, and I know that he means the fact that I am the only prisoner in general population with a room all to myself. I shrug.

"What can I say, I'm charming." I growl. He grins, and I'm unsure of the purpose of this conversation.

"Some guys in here might get ideas," he warns me. I frown, not following, "y'know, about how loose your tongue is."

"I ain't no snitch!" I spit out aggressively, and the man raises his hands, as if he hadn't meant offense.

"I'm not saying you are," he is laughing and I am confused. I narrow my eyes, "Just saying, gotta wonder why you got this whole place to yourself."

"I have a highly infectious disease." I challenge him, and his grin broadens.

"What's your name, kid?" He asks and clench my jaw, unsure whether or not this man is looking for some way to take advantage, or whether he is just curious as to why I have lucked into having no cell mate. I clear my throat.

"Ray." I tell him.

"Well, Ray, I'm John Abruzzi." He tells me, "How old are you?"

I inhale sharply, knowing that my age is one of the many things making me a prime target, "18." Abruzzi raises his eyebrows, rubbing his neck with his hand.

"You're just a child." There is an odd tone of sadness to his voice, something I was not expecting. I shrug, hearing a buzzer ring from outside in the cell block.

"Well, the courts didn't think so." I mutter.

"What you in for?"

I inhale sharply, this is not something you discuss, and I know that, "Why do you wanna know?"

"Just making conversation," He shrugs, "and I like to know who I'm rubbing shoulders with."

"You do background checks on all the new arrivals?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. He lets out a laugh and steps towards me. I feel my muscles tense as he comes closer, the conversation taking a less than friendly turn. He lowers his voice, making sure that no one will over hear, making sure that the tone is threatening enough to drive home the message.

"No, but not every kid who swans in here manages to get a cell all to themselves, not every new arrival is as friendly with the bulls as you are. And when I do want to know about someone, usually I can just call up my connections in records and get all I need to know on a person, but your records are sealed." I grit my teeth, glancing up and catching his eye, trying my best not to look away in fear.

"Ladies!" There is a call from my cell door, and I glance past Abruzzi to see a guard standing there, his eyebrows raised expectantly, "Hate to break this up, but it's yard time."

"Alright boss, we're comin'." Abruzzi calls, waving him away before returning his attention to me. He lets out a jovial laugh, straightening up and taking a step backwards, "Don't worry, I'll find out what's going on here," He promises. I feel as if I am going to be sick, "You look after yourself now."

* * *

><p>When I step out into the yard I realise that I am lost. I look around the expanse of green, and I feel as if I am in high school. People seperate themselves off into specific group, specific cliques, some of them sticking to the weight areas, other pacing along the length of the mesh fence, but there is a place for everyone. Everyone by myself. I need to sit down, my stomach churning from the confrontation with John Abruzzi, the horror of the fact that I am much too far out of my depth sinking in with every passing second. I walk slowly across the lawn, my eyes searching for a place to sit, a place where I can put my head between my legs and hope that I don't have a panic attack.<p>

I see a set of bleachers and I make my way towards them, my shoulders hunched, my hands tucked deeply in my pockets while keeping my eyes focused on my feet. I do not want to attract attention to myself, as I'd already been noticed in a way that could be my downfall. I reach the bleachers and crash down on the nearest seat, exhaling slowly, my eyes surveying the yard from my vantage point.

I wonder what it would have been like had I made other choices, had I gone to the police after Alex's suicide and asked them to investigate, if I had tried to cover up the murder, if I hadn't just turned myself in, what if I had fought the charge and been released. I feel regret swirling through my mind and I try to stifle it, I knew that my life was over, this was my decision.

I hear a loud clattering noise of footsteps on the bleachers behind me and I turn to see who was approaching, and I feel fear grip me as I meet a pair of familiar eyes, with the same wicked smile that had greeted me yesterday. I rise to my feet, intent on leaving, but a hand grips my arm and I am suddenly pulled back down onto the bleachers, landing painfully next to the man called T-Bag.

"Oh, no, don't leave on my account." He purrs, I glance behind him and notice he is alone. I clear my throat, knowing that my discomfort is visible on my features, "You're lookin' like you could use company."

"I'm fine." I tell him, although I know he does not care. His eyes scan my frame, and I can't help but wonder what he is trying to figure out - How difficult it would be to over power me? What I would look like bent over his bunk?

"What's your name, boy?" He asks.

"Ray." I mumble. He grins, flashing his chipped teeth.

"Well, Ray, I'm T-Bag," He tells me, rolling my name across his tongue. I can feel him shifting his weight closer to me, his shoulder pressing against mine, his head leaning in so he can speak to me in a low voice, "Just wanna make sure you're settlin' in okay here, I mean, you look a little lonely."

"I wasn't lying when I said I was fine." I growl, uneasy with how close he is, how I can feel his breath against the side of my face.

"I know, I know, I just worry, that's all. It can pay to have family here, y'know, to look out for you." He explains, and suddenly I feel an arm snake around my shoulder. I can feel my back stiffen at his touch, and I wonder whether he has noticed my reaction, "You're a very pretty boy, y'see, you stand out like a sore thumb, that can make things mighty uncomfortable," I feel his hand grip my shoulder, and I turn to see him running his tongue along his lower lip, staring at me as if I am a piece of meat, "I can help make things much more comfortable."

Suddenly a smile cracks across my face, and I don't notice it at first, but I let out a laugh of disbelief. As terrifying as this man is, as much as his predatory glare unnerves me, the fact that he has his arm draped around my frame and is growling suggestions under his voice while I am dressed as a man is too surreal, too strange, for my fear to be sustained. I reach up, removing the hand from my shoulder gently, shaking my head as I rise to my feet, and hop off the bleacher, turning to face T-Bag. He sits there, an expression of confusion on his face, unsure of my reaction.

"Thanks, really," I tell him, patting myself on my shoulder where his hand had previously been lying, "But I'm already very comfortable." I explain. He cocks his head to one side, not following what I mean. I take a step backwards, "I'm flattered."


	4. Visitation

The chicken is an odd grey colour, and as I stare down at it I wonder whether or not it is safe to eat. I prod it carefully with the plastic white fork that I've been given, seeing some of the grease seep out of the hole that I've made. I scowl, not wanting to put it in my mouth, but knowing that losing anymore weight is not an option. I'm scrawny, I look I would fall over with a strong gust of wind, and I also know that makes especially vulnerable.

I break a piece off, raising it to my lips and putting it in my mouth, chewing it and grimacing. I need to have a stronger  
>stomach, I need to be able to eat whatever it is that they put in front of me. I glance up, catching the C.O., who I'd learned was called Bob, glancing over at me.<p>

He was one of the few members of staff in here that was aware of my situation, aware that I was much more than just a pathetic, under fed boy.

"It's not gonna bite." I hear a voice tell me and my eyes tear away from the lump of meat on my tray to see John Abruzzi standing a few feet away from me, his own tray in his hands, a smile on his face. I feel my stomach twist into an uncomfortable knot and I swallow the mouthful I'd been chewing.

"I ain't afraid of it biting," I mutter, sticking my fork in the chicken, "I'm afraid of food poisoning." Abruzzi gives an understanding nod, before moving and taking the seat across the table from me, placing his tray down and letting out a sigh. I clear my throat, wondering what is going on, whether or not I was going to be subjected to more threats.

"I want to... apologize... for the other day." He starts, and I raise my eyebrows, before narrowing my eyes suspiciously. He has no reason to be sorry.

"Why?" I spit out. He shakes his head, as if he finds the whole situation amusing, and then shrugs.

"It was... premature. Prison can be difficult enough without me making it worse." He explains. I am completely lost, "We could all use a friend."

"And you're offering to be mine?" I ask, and he shrugs again.

"You could use one." He tells me, "One other than T-Bag."

"Who says I'm friends with T-bag?"

"I saw the pair of you in the yard. He has his sights set on you, he's not one to just give up." He explains and nausea once again sweeps over me. I glance down at the food on my tray and realise that my appetite is well and truly gone.

"I can handle myself." I tell him and hope that I sound convincing. Abruzzi laughs at this.

"You're brave, I can appreciate that." He leans forward, "But T-Bag is an animal. He killed half a dozen kids in Alabama, kids your age. He's vicious."

"So what you're telling me is that I'm screwed. That despite the fact that you're off my back, I gotta keep an eye out for some other creep." I growl. Abruzzi lets out a sigh, leaning back.

"No, what I'm saying is that I'm not your enemy. Not anymore." He explains, he picks up a bowl on his tray, with a piece of dry looking cake sitting in it, and reaches over, placing it in front of me, "Eat it, you need some meat on your bones." He says, before rising to his feet, picking up his tray and disappearing into the crowded mess hall.

I scowl, glancing down at the bowl, and pick it up. Underneath I find a scrunched up piece of paper, worn and folded up. I pick it up, straightening it out, revealing what is on it. It's a newspaper clipping, from earlier in the year, and my heart rate starts to soar as I look at the picture, at the headline, at the pair of dark eyes staring back at me from the page.

"_Kid Vigilante to Plead Guilty_," the headline reads, I glance down at the print beneath it, "_Kurea Nakamura, an 18 year old girl from Cairo, Illinois, is pleading guilty to the brutal murder of Robert Thompson, a 53 year old engineer who is suspected in several open child molestation cases across the state._" I look at the picture, of the long haired, dark eyed, scowling girl being escorted across the parking lot of the police station, staring down the camera with a challenging glare.

I quickly push myself up from where I am seated, glancing desperately around the dining hall, searching for Abruzzi. I can no longer see him, and panic is erupting in my chest. He knows, he knows exactly who I am, he knows that I do not belong here, that I am prize real estate to any predators looking for a trophy. I hastily shove the newspaper clipping in my pocket, and without even bothering to clean up after myself I leave the food sitting and run into the crowd of prisoners, desperate to get out of there, to remove myself from a room of people who, if they knew what I was, would be out for my blood in a heartbeat.

* * *

><p>The man who sits across the table from me looks like he needs a decent nights sleep. He is crouched over, his elbows propped up on the surface of the table, supporting his head. His hair is dappled with grey, not from age but from the stress of daily living, his eyes are creased in the edges and the frown lines across his forehead are prominent. His eyes are dark, and mirror mine as he meets them, and his face crumples.<p>

"Hi, Dad." I sigh as I take a seat across from him in the visitation room. His lips purse, his chin quivering as he attempts to hold it together, attempts to quell the emotions that are rising up inside him. He had been following my case, he had been the person I had leant on, and now, seeing my like this, with my head shaved, with my face gaunt, it is too much.

"You shouldn't be here." He whispers. I smile sadly, and glance down at my lap.

"Would you prefer it if I was in Bellevue with Mai?" I ask, and raise my eyebrows.

"It probably would be safer..." I let out a chuckle of disbelief.

"Right, because the strong family bond will repress and homicidal feelings she has for me." I hiss. I am aware that we are surrounded by other prisoners, that they are all within ear shot, that if they chose to listen in to our conversation they would be able to decipher what we were saying, "If had gone there, I'd be in the ground by now. You know that."

"You look like a boy." He whimpers, almost too quiet for me to hear. I feel my heart dip, but I straighten my back and nod sharply.

"Good, that's the idea." I mutter.

"It doesn't suit you." He tells me, and I crack another smile.

"It's not supposed to." I explain. He grits his teeth, I can see his jaw tightening as he does so.

"Why the hell did you have to do this?" He spits out.

"You know why. If I hadn't done this I wouldn't have been able to live with myself, I'd spend every day sick to my stomach knowing that he was still out there. You know what he did to Alex. She's dead because of him." I growl, and my dad rolls his eyes, sick of hearing this excuse.

"I don't give a damn about Alex!" He spits out, a tear spilling and rolling down his cheek, "What I care about is you, what I care about is the fact that you were all I had left, Ray, you were it. Your mother is gone, your sister is gone, it was just you and me. And you've left me alone, you've left me, because of some fucked up vendetta."

I feel my heart break and I can no longer look him in the eye. He is true, it was entirely selfish on my part, I was not considering anything other than my need to exact revenge on a man who inflicted suffering on my closest friend. I had not thought of my father, who had lost so much, I had not thought of what it would do to him. I grit my teeth, and try my best not to cry, not to let myself show.

"You've relapsed." I whisper softly, and it is his turn to look away. I let out a laugh filled with nothing but sadness, "When did that happen?"

"Two weeks ago. I'm admitting myself tomorrow morning." He explains. I nod, I should have noticed the smell of alcohol when I first sat down, but it had taken a few minutes for the hint of whiskey on his breath to hit home.

"You're here to say goodbye then." I sigh, and he nods slowly.

"I just wanted to let you know why I won't be visiting you for a while, it's not because I don't care."

"I would have never thought of that. Put yourself first, take of yourself, it's what's important." I explain, meaning every word. He shakes his head.

"What about you, are you going to take care of yourself?" I bit down on my lower lip, and inhale sharply.

"I'll try my best," I tell him, knowing that I can't promise him anything, knowing that even if I did tell him I would, the men behind these bars might have different plans for me.


	5. Riots, Drills and the Devil Part 1

I can feel the sweat forming on the surface of my skin, running down my temples, leaving a salty taste on my lips. I have never experienced a heat quite like this. It is suffocating, I can barely breathe. I stand leaning against the bars in front of cell, thinking that maybe, just maybe, the metal will somehow cool me down. It is not working, and instead I find myself sucking in huge gulps of air and fanning myself with a book that I had picked up from the library earlier in the day.

I feel stifled by my clothes, and as I look out across the cell block I feel a strange pang of jealousy towards all the men that are able to take off their shirts and cool down. I am wearing the prison assigned white top, along with a padded vest necessary for evening out the few curves that I still have. I am wrapped up much warmer than a typical person would be in the depth of winter, and I feel like I might pass out.

I hear a loud buzzing noise and take a step backwards as my cell door opens, "Line it up!" I hear a C.O. call and I let out a sigh, taking a step out onto the balcony, glancing down at the shirtless, sweat covered men that mimicked me. I glance over the railings and down to the ground floor, immediately spotting T-Bag. I feel a strange tightening in my stomach as he steps out of the line up, and I immediately know that something bad is about to happen.

"Get your ass on the line, convict!" The C.O cries. I hold my breath, seeing the expression on T-Bags face, and I know that this will not end well. Suddenly more prisoners step out of line, taking their place next to T-Bag.

"We'll move when the temperature situation is rectified!" T-Bag announces, words which are met favorably by the rest of the prisoners.

"Don't be a baby, T-Bag, it ain't that hot!" The C.O challenged.

"Not that hot?" T-Bag screams, and he points at a black prisoner, who stands somberly on the line, "When this man woke up this morning, he was white!" There is a shock wave that ripples through the prisoners, everyone is shouting. My back stiffens in fear.

"You wanna cool off?" The C.O asks, and without warning he suddenly throws the small, plastic cup of water all over T-Bag. I instinctively take a step back, knowing that something like that is not going to go down well, that the situation will inevitably escalate. I glance down the walk way, seeing the other prisoners cheering, shouting, getting more and more agitated. "Step back!" The C.O orders.

"We'll step back when we get some wind blowin' in here!" T-Bag spits out.

"Alright, that's it! Lock down!" The C.O calls, "Everyone back in their cells!" I do not need more prompting than that, and I immediately retreat behind the bars, watching as the slide shut in front of me. I let out a sigh and step over to my bed, sitting down momentarily, running a hand over my head. I am petrified, but momentarily feel safe, separated from the yelling, from the violent commotion that appears to be growing louder and louder on the lower level.

I shut my eyes, trying to slow down my heart rate, trying to somehow make myself calm. It appears to work for a few minutes, but suddenly there is a buzzing noise and my eyes snap open, turning to see the cell door slide open, my only barrier from the rest of the prisoners suddenly removed. I feel sick, and immediately jump to my feet. I stare at the door for a second, waiting, trying to see if anyone will use this window of anarchy to target me. Eventually I feel safe enough to step forward and look outside.

I reach out, grabbing the bars of my cell door, and peer my head around the corner. It is a mess, there are men running up and down the tiers, there is toilet roll being thrown from people's cell, as a form of ticker tape, celebrating our new found freedom.

"Ray." I suddenly see the man who has said my name, and I straighten up, retreating into my cell, feeling trapped. Abruzzi appears in the doorway, and I glance up at him, half expecting him to raise his hand, hit me hard and knock me out. He doesn't do this, instead his face softens and he steps inside my cell, "We need to talk."

"About what?" I choke out, taking an instinctive step back. I wish I had a shank, something sharp, a blade to use to protect myself, but I am not one to risk breaking the rules, not when my safety depends on me flying below the radar.

"You know what about!" Abruzzi growls under his breath. I grit my teeth.

"What do you want from me?" I snap, knowing that the fear in my eyes is painfully obvious. His features soften, and he shakes his head.

"Nothin'." He tells me with a voice full of sincerity, "I just want to tell you that you don't need to worry about me. I'll keep your secret, I'll watch out for you."

"Why?" I hiss. Charity is not common within prisons, and I immediately suspect he wants something in return. He grins, as if trying to appear friendly. I take another step away from him.

"I know what you are. I know what you did." He clarifies, and I nod sharply, confirming that I'm aware of this, "I'm a father. I have a daughter. If anyone hurt her... I would... I would gut them." He runs a hand through his hair, struggling to get the words right, "I get it. I get why you killed that man. I respect that. I would do that too. But you - you're a child. You're a little girl."

"I'm a murderer." I correct him. He shakes his head.

"You're someone's daughter." I picture my father's face and immediately my hard exterior crumbles. I look down at my feet, suddenly feeling an unexpected wave of emotion hit me. Abruzzi steps forward, awkwardly placing a hand on my shoulder in an almost reassuring gesture, "I'd want to know that someone was looking out for my kid, if I was your father. You did the world a favor, what you did to end up in here, and you'll be killed if you don't have any form of protection. I can protect you."

"And you don't want anything in return?" I ask, furrowing my brow, glancing back up to meet his eyes.

"No. Nothing. Just your safety." He clarifies. I shake my head in disbelief.

"I don't get it." I admit. He lets out a quiet chuckle and shrugs, removing his hand from my shoulder.

"Maybe one day, when you have a kid of your own, you'll understand."

* * *

><p>I lean against the wall of my cell, my eyes directed again at the lower level, attempting to wait out the riot, watching as people run up and down the walkways, people being beaten to within an inch of their life, others attempting to have some form of fun before the freedom is taken away. Abruzzi stands a few feet away from me, his eyes scanning my figure.<p>

"Why are you here anyway?" I hear Abruzzi ask, and I glance over to him, wiping some sweat from my brow.

"Your 'connections' couldn't figure that out?" I raise my eyebrows and he shrugs.

"Like I said, your records are hard to get to." He explains. I let out a sigh and shrug.

"I can't be kept in Belleview - the woman's prison." I tell him, and inhale sharply, "My sister is currently there. We don't get on, I wouldn't survive a day in there. I'm the key witness in her case, so I need to stay in the state, and I need to stay alive. This was the only real alternative." He shakes his head.

"Families, eh? Can't live with them, can't live without them." He leans against the bars next to me, "This isn't much of an alternative though."

"You're right." I murmur with a nod, and then allow myself to smirk, glancing over at him, "But I got you to look out for me now, right?" He grins in return, and I can feel some of the fear that has been eating away at me for the past few days evaporate. Maybe I am lucky, maybe I have managed to stumble across someone who has enough of a misplaced moral center to actually help me.

"You got that right." He reassures me and I smile, glancing back out at the cell block.

It's then I see something that makes my stomach lurch in disgust, my grip tightens on the bar and my face drops, my eyes widening. Abruzzi notices and follows my eye line, seeing what I have just spotted. The cell block by now was over-run with prisoners, it was within their control, the majority of C.O's having abandoned it in self-preservation. T-Bag appears beneath us, his hand gripping the collar of a C.O's uniform, dragging the beaten and bruised man along behind him as if he is some sort of prized piece of livestock. I recognize him, the blood barely masking the terrified expression on his face. It is Bob, Bob Hudson, one of the few C.O's who had taken me under their wing, kept an eye out for me, looked after me.

"Gentlemen!" T-Bag's voice resonates off the walls of the cell block, and the prisoners collect around him as he stands on the stairs to the second tier, making sure everyone can hear him. "I assure you, once Bob and I get acquainted, everyone else will get their turn!" I immediately turn to face Abruzzi, who is watching with a scowl on his face.

"We have to do something," I whimper, and he turns to me, almost surprised by my reaction, "This isn't right, they'll kill him."

Abruzzi continues to watch, and I turn to see T-Bag chasing Bob along the second teir, the C.O crawling along in a desperate attempt to get away, but he is too beaten, too hurt, to get away, and instead T-Bag launches himself on top of the man, slapping his face, spitting on him. I feel a strange sense of desperation well up inside me as he lifts the C.O, throwing him into the nearest cell.

"Fuck this!" I spit out, glaring at Abruzzi who has barely moved, and abruptly step out of my cell. I sprint down the steps, hearing John chasing after me as I make my way through the rowdy prisoners, cheering and shouting. I make it to the stairs, pull myself up and run along to tier. I jump into the cell, glancing around, seeing Bob on the ground, having fallen against the toilet and pulled it from the wall, revealing a large hole where bricks should be. I inhale sharply as T-Bag bends over, staring at the hole in amazement.

"They're breaking out..." I hear him whisper, and I frown, desperately trying to figure out who's cell this is, "THEY'RE BREAKING -" He starts to scream, but before he can finish the sentence Abruzzi pushes past me, grabbing a hold of T-Bag and covering his mouth, raising a finger to his lips.

"John," I hiss. I immediately know that I am not supposed to be here, I am not supposed to be seeing this. I glance at him as he slowly removes his hand from T-Bag's mouth, ensuring that he didn't say anything.

"I know." He mumbles, his eyes locked with T-Bag, who is staring at him defiantly. He is breathless, and covered in blood, most of it belonging to Bob who is lying in the corner, panting, his nose bleeding, his face swollen and bruised, "You weren't supposed to see this." He whispers to me. I raise my eyebrows.

"No shit!" I growl. I do not need any reason for another prisoner to have some form of vendetta against me, another excuse to want me dead. Knowing about an escape plan was the last thing I needed.

I hear a noise and I spin around, seeing a man's head appearing through the hole in the wall. He is young, his head shaved, striking blue eyes peering up at me, before glancing towards T-Bag, Abruzzi, and finally seeing Bob. He pulls himself out, straightening up.

"Michael, we..." Abruzzi clears his throat, "We got a problem."

"That's right, Bob here's seen the hole!" T-Bag interjects, straightening up, "He's got to go away."

I watch as Michael runs his hands over his head, leaning against the wall, "No one's going anywhere," he tells us decisively.

"He's seen the hole!" T-Bag insists. I clench my jaw.

"So have you." I growl. T-Bag looks at me, raising his eyebrows, stepping towards me in a threatening manner.

"What you going to do about boy, you gonna make me go away?" His eyes narrow and he steps even closer, so I can feel his breath on my face. I do not blink, "I'd like to see you try."

"I wouldn't underestimate me, it'd be the last mistake you make." I hiss through gritted teeth. There is a clanging sound and we all turn to see someone else's face appear in the hole, a young latino man with a shaved head glances up at us all, and his face drops in horror. He hastily pushes himself out of the small cramped hole and straightens up.

"Looks like your lock down didn't work out too good, huh?" He asks, turning to Michael. I narrow my eyes.

"_Your_ lock down?" I murmur, quickly realising that these two men were somehow involved in inciting the riot that was currently raging just outside the doors.

"I have a daughter, please!" I hear Bob beg and my heart breaks.

"We gotta kill him!" T-bag announces and immediately I take a step to my left, positioning myself between him and Bob.

"You're not touching him!" I spit out. I glance over at Michael, knowing that he appears to be the one with the final say in this matter. He meets my eyes, and I realise that we are on the same wavelength.

"The cops are right outside," Michael points out, glancing towards T-Bag, "and they'll stay outside as long as they know that we're keeping him alive."

"But he's a guard!" T-Bag whines, "He's gonna squeal!" He turns and glares at me, "And you, you've got swinging all sorts of special treatment, no wonder you're protecting him! You've got rat written all over you."

"What the hell does this have to do with you anyway? This is not any of your concern!" Abruzzi growls, stepping closer to him.

"Hm, well, see, Bob here knows about our secret, he knows about our escape. So it's all of our concern now, isn't it?" He announces smugly, moving to leave as if he has proven his point. Abruzzi quickly jumps forward, grabbing T-Bag by the throat and pinning him against the bars of the cell.

"Now listen here, pervert! You're in as much trouble as he is!"

"Go ahead, go ahead, stick me! Stick me! See how many times I can shout out about your little hole in there before I bleed out, huh?" T-Bag hisses, "'cause every con in here's gonna know about your little escape before one drop of my blood hits the floor. So you see 'friends' I'm going through that hole with you or I'm going to sing like Johnny cash."

I scrap my teeth over my lower lip and glance towards Michael, the look on his face making it obvious just how anxious and stressed out he is about the situation. I clear my throat, and look towards Bob, who is on the verge of tears.

Abruzzi lets go of T-bag, retreating back into the cell, glancing over his shoulder at me.

"I trust we're not going to have a problem with you?" He murmurs. I raise my eyebrows.

"What, about me tattling?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. He nods curtly, "I'm not going to draw anymore unwanted attention to myself, and that includes outing you and your friends to the Warden." I explain, before shrugging, "I mean, what the hell would I possibly have to gain by whistle blowing." Abruzzi nods again, slowly, understanding that the last thing I needed to do was rat him out and leave myself defenseless.

"Sucre, I'm going to need you to finish what we started." Michael says as he turns to his cell mate.

"Where're you going?" Sucre asks, looking confused.

"Sick bay."

"Wait, there's no way to leave A Wing, we're all locked out." Abruzzi points out. Michael allows a glimmer of a smile rise to his lips, and he shakes his head.

"I'm not." He admits defiantly. He glances at Bob, then to T-Bag who steps inside the cell and leans against the metal bed frame. Michael grits his teeth, turning and pointing his finger directly at me, "You, make sure no one touches the C.O.," he says, shooting a glare at T-Bag, "No one." I nod, watching as Michael turns around and ducks down, crawling through the hold in the wall with ease.

"You gonna clue me in?" I hear T-Bag's southern drawl and turn to see him looking at Abruzzi expectantly. Abruzzi rolls his eyes, pushing himself away from the wall where he'd been leaving, and glances down at me.

"I'll be right back." He tells me, before disappearing out onto the tier. I let out a sigh and sit down on the edge of the bed, glancing over at Bob, who meets my eyes and I attempt to flash him a small, discrete, supportive smile. I see T-Bag make his way over to him, and immediately my back stiffens.

"Hey!" I shout, and T-Bag turns to shoot me a glare, ignoring me as he undoes Bob's belt, pulling it off, "You get away from him."

"Chill, Ray-na!" T-Bag sighs, and I scowl at the nickname he has randomly assigned me, "I'm just makin' sure he won't be pulling any stunts. Making sure he's safe, right, Bob?" He asks with a grin.

"You touch a hair on his head -" I start as T-Bag pulls the C.O's wallet from his pocket.

"You'll what?" T-Bag asks, glancing over his shoulder at me and raises his eyebrows, "You'll run to Abruzzi and tell on me?" I exhale, shifting uncomfortably, knowing that I have no authority.

"I will gut you like a fish." I growl, T-Bag pauses, shooting me a knowing look, a small smile playing on his lips, an odd sense of pride behind it, as if I was amusing, cute, like some puppy snapping harmlessly at the heels of its owner.

"One day, Ray-na," He sighs, "One day I want to see you live up to those threats of yours. It'd be somethin' special."


	6. Riots, Drills and the Devil Part 2

"You haven't got a problem; I swear to god, I'm not going to say anything, I didn't see anything!" Bob whimpers from the corner as T-Bag wraps his belt around his hand. The expression on his face is predatory, he stares at Bob as if he is going to eat him alive. My fear is ebbing away, being replaced by a distinct sense of desperation, one that is entirely centered around securing Bob's safety. This man has looked out for me, offered me help, and seeing him trapped in this way is making my skin crawl.

"That's right, badge. You didn't see nothin'." Sucre confirms with a swift nod of his head. Suddenly he ducks down, hunching over in front of the hole, moving to crawl through. I clear my throat.

"You leaving?" I ask. He glances up at me, an apologetic expression on his face, and nods.

"Yeah, I have to. I'm sorry. Stay here," He looks over at Bob, who has tears brimming in his eyes, "I'll be back. Ray will look out for you." He promises. I catch Bob's eye and I understand that my presence does nothing to reassure him. He knows what I am, he knows that if any of these men figure it out I am at as much risk as he is. T-Bag, however, is clueless, and rises to his feet, making his way over to the cell door as Sucre disappears into the hole. T-Bag reaches out and grabs the sheet which has been strung up over the bars, pulling it over and covering the inside of the cell from sight.

"Don't worry C.O., I'm not gonna hurt nobody." He insists, looking over at me winking, "I'm part of the team now." I don't want to correct him, I don't want to point out that these men have some sense of right and wrong and would never willingly inflict him on the outside world. I can feel his eyes on me and I let out an exasperated sigh.

"What?" I snap.

"Calm down Ray-na, just want you to pull your weight, y'know, just so it's fair." I raise my eyebrows, not understanding what he's asking, "Pull that over." He instructs, motioning towards the toilet which is laying on the floor of the cell. I push myself upright, leaning over and grabbing it, pulling it over to cover the hole and hide it from view.

"That's the way, mm mm mmm." I hear T-Bag murmur as I set the toilet in place, and immediately I straighten up, turning round to see him licking his lower lip as he studies my figure. I raise my eyebrows and immediately have to stifle a laugh, again finding it inappropriately hilarious that a man is checking me out while my body is hidden beneath bonds and padding. Instead I nod, shrug, and take a seat on the edge of the bed.

T-Bag allows the sheet to fall back down and steps towards the C.O, leaning against the brick wall before sliding down into a seated position on the floor, producing the C.O's wallet from his pocket and opening it casually. His eyes glance up momentarily to meet mine as he rummages through the credit cards and receipts.

"So, what's your story?" I hear T-Bag ask. I scowl, shrugging.

"Does it matter?" I ask.

"Not really, just thought that maybe we could get to know each other seeing as we're stuck in this tiny, cramped cell with the boss man over here," He raises his eyebrows and grins, "I ain't gonna judge. What landed your fine ass in a hole like this?" I contemplate whether or not I should lie, whether I should keep my mouth shut, or whether honesty is truly the best policy.

"Murder." I say simply, T-Bag makes a whistling noise.

"Big man, eh?" He laughs, as if my crime is a joke.

"Nothin' compared to you, right?" I mumble. He drops the wallet that he's been rummaging through and pushes himself forward, his eyes carefully examining my face, and for a second I am unsure of what is going on, I am worried that the intensity of his expression, the careful glances along my cheekbones, the curve of my nose, my full lips, means that he is figuring it out, he can see the girl in me even when I try and hide it. He runs his tongue along his lower lip and narrows his eyes.

"Do I scare you?" He whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear, and with an oddly soft tone to his voice. I don't look away, and instead consider the question. I think about how his very name made me feel sick during the first few days of my stay, but how over time I've realised that he is just a prisoner like any other. I clear my throat, straightening my back.

"No. Lonely, desperate men don't frighten me." I growl, and he lets out a soft laugh from his throat, before recoiling and picking up the wallet that he'd just discarded, shrugging.

"I suppose I'll just have to give you a reason then, won't I?" He mumbles, his eyes back down, focused on the contents of the wallet once more. He plucks out a drivers license.

"What have we here? 'Tyler Robert Hudson'. Fancy, C.O. and look at that address, 144 Oak Park, oh and what's this?" His voice was lyrical as he read off his personal details. I glanced at Bob, his brow furrowed with pain and fear.

"Terrace." He mumbles, his voice weak.

"Terrace... how do you swing that C.O? Sounds like you're about something, living on a 'terrace'. I can't wait to kick in on a terrace." I roll my eyes, knowing that he is enjoying watching this man squirm, knowing that because he is unable to touch him he is getting his sadistic kick in whatever way he possibly can, "Oh! Oh... this must be your daughter." I immediately straighten up, seeing him producing a small photo of a girl, only a year or two younger than myself, in a red dress, clearly about to leave for the prom. My stomach sinks.

"Put it back!" The C..O begs. I grit my teeth.

"T-Bag, put it back." I growl. He shoots me a glare.

"Shut it, Ray, I'm just having some fun." He returns his attention to Bob, who's face is crumpled with desperation, "Prom? You now what they say about a prom dress, don't ya?" He asks as he places the picture between his teeth, "She didn't come home that night, did she? No, she wore that dress all night long -"

"For fucks sake T-" I spit out, unable to listen to him torturing the man any longer. I stand up, reaching out and snatching the photo from between his teeth. Before I even have time to react T-Bag is on his feet, with one hand grabbing me roughly around my throat, the other around the wrist of the hand with the photo clutched in it's grip. He shoves me backwards, my shoulder blades striking against the metal bed frame painfully. I let out a hiss of pain as his grip tightens and my wrist twists in his grasp, but I glance up and meet his eyes, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me afraid.

"Now that was a stupid thing to do, wasn't it?" He is so close to me that I can see the lines in the corners of his eyes. I let out a laugh.

"You really are sick, aren't you?" I say in disbelief. I see the muscles in his face twitch as his jaw clenches.

"This isn't the place for bravery, Ray-na. You ain't got Abruzzi to hide behind," He licks his lips, glancing up at the photo in my hand, "Just give it to me, kay?"

I attempt to shake my head, but he is holding it in place. I smile at him, "I don't need John."

It was T-Bag's turn to laugh, and he leans in, his stubble scraping along the skin of my cheek, "You're playing with the big boys now." He breaths in my ear and I try to ignore the shudder that travels down my spine.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Abruzzi's voice rings out through the small cell, and immediately the pressure on my neck is gone, my wrist is free but I feel the small piece of paper leave my fingers. T-bag has retreated back, leaning once again against the wall opposite me, placing the small photo in the pocket of his trousers, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Just kicking with deputy dog." T-bag sighs, his eyes not leaving mine, "Talking woman."

"I'm going to be very clear here, because we face an evolutionary gap," Abruzzi says as I take a seat on the lower bunk. Abruzzi hastily pushes T-Bag up against the wall, and I watch as T-Bag doesn't even fight back, just glances away, as if feeling guilty, "You ain't gonna hurt them. we're locked into this... thing now, and he's the only leverage we have." He steps away from T-Bag and kneels down next to Bob.

"Thank you." I hear Bob whisper.

"You're welcome," Abruzzi murmurs quietly to him, before looking back up at T-Bag, "Now do we have an understanding?"

"I'm on your side now, you understand me? I'm just going with the flow!" T-Bag insists, clearly growing agitated. He lets out a sigh, stepping towards the door, "You let me know when you're done with your... 'leverage'." He says, before disappearing down the walk way. I purse my lips together, glancing over at Abruzzi, who is staring at me with an oddly sympathetic expression on his face.

"You don't have to put up with him." He tells me, and I raise my eyebrows.

"You offering to shank him?" I ask with a note of a laugh in my voice. He shrugs.

"Will be doing the world a favor." He tells me. I feel an odd sense of guilt start to burn in my gut and I glance momentarily in the direction that T-Bag had disappeared in.

"Maybe it just makes us as bad as him." I sigh with a shrug, returning my focus to Abruzzi, "I mean, I can handle myself around him anyway."

"If he bothers you, come to me. Okay." He insists, and I smile, nodding slowly. Abruzzi nods sharply and pulls the toilet momentarily back from the wall, glancing down into the hole.

"I'll be back soon." He mumbles to himself as he ducks down, and I sigh, nodding.

"Just keep an eye on Bob, yeah?" I ask. Abruzzi nods, barely listening, and crawls behind the toilet. I rise to my feet, readjusting the toilet to cover the hole, and taking my seat on on the bed once more, glancing over and looking at Bob, who shoots me an extremely forced smile.

"How you holding up?" I ask, my voice soft. He lets out a shaky sigh.

"Not good." He admits, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Aren't you scared?" He asks. I shrug, running a hand over my shaved head.

"I have the luxury of anonymity." I admit.

"I don't know how you stick it, in here, every day, with these men."

"I don't have a choice. And anyway, you're the same. What inspired you to work in the corrections system?" I ask, and he lets out a laugh, like it's a bad joke.

"I needed the money. My friend got me this gig." He explains.

"I bet you're regretting it now." I murmur.

"That's an understatement," I can see tears forming once again in his eyes, one of them falling and running down his face, "Thanks, by the way, for standing up for me."

"Hey, you've done the same for me, right?" I point out.

* * *

><p>Within an hour T-Bag appears at the cell door, strutting inside and leaning against the opposite wall, grinning as he glances from the C.O to me, "Well, don't you two just look so sorry for yourselves?" He purrs, "If I were you two I would lighten up." I shoot him a filthy look.<p>

"Why are you back?" I ask, raising an eyebrow, "Miss us?"

"I was in the neighborhood," He snaps back, "thought I'd pop in and get to know you two a little better."

"Well, we don't feel like sharing today." I spit out.

"You think just 'cause you're in here in a murder charge that gives you some balls. That ain't how it works Ray-na," he snarls, "Who'd ya kill anyway? You one of those 'high school massacre' kids? You play one too many video games and decided to give it a go in real life? Got annoyed 'cause your girlfriend wasn't sucking you off enough? Decided to compensate with a gun?"

"No," I tell him simply, "I stabbed a pedophile. Just because some sick dogs deserve to be put down."

I watch as his hard exterior falters momentarily, and I wonder if what I'm seeing is a hint of fear, of humanity, cross his features. He corrects it, and soon enough the vicious appearance is back with a vengeance, "You don't want to mess with me, boy," He growls from the deep recesses of his throat, "I will eviscerate you."

"I'll take my chances." I say, my face blank and calm.

Suddenly a large man barrels into the cell, twice T-Bag's size, with a closely shaved head, broad shoulders and a look of pure resentment on his features. He grabs T-Bag by the scruff of the neck, pushing him aggressively up against the brick wall.

"Whoa, whoa!" T-Bag cries, and I rise to my feet, taking a step back, clueless as to who this new arrival is, and knowing that I probably should not be here, "I didn't though him. Ask him! Things have changed since we last met!" T-Bag hastily explains.

There is a clattering noise and I glance to my right to see Sucre's face appearing from the hole in the wall, his eyes glancing up, darting from me, to T-Bag, to the man who just arrived. He stares back, releasing T-Bag and stepping to the side, a look of horror on his face.

"Relax partner, I'm in on it now!" T-Bag explains as he leans forward and helps Sucre to his feet, "As is Ray-na here," T-Bag points out, nodding in my direction, "And the C.O."

Abruzzi's face suddenly appears from behind the toilet, and he pushes himself upright, dusting himself down. I see the large man's face contort in confusion and anger, and without warning he reaches forward, grabbing Sucre and pulling him out of the cell. I let out a sigh, glancing over at Abruzzi.

"You better head back to your cell, Ray." Abruzzi instructs me. I frown, nodding towards Bob.

"What about him?" I ask cautiously.

"I'll take care of it, he'll be fine." He promises me. I bit down on my lower lip and step towards the cell door, hoping that I can take Abruzzi at his word.

"Hang on one second, he's seen the hole!" I hear T-Bag pipe up. I hesitate, momentarily thinking he is speaking of Bob, but when I look over my shoulder I see he is staring at me with an accusatory glare.

"Seriously?" I growl. T-Bag shrugs.

"I don't trust you."

I let out a laugh of disbelief, "The feeling's mutual."

"He's with me." Abruzzi interjects, stepping over to T-Bag and glaring down at him, "And you do not touch him." He turns and nods at me, telling me to head on.

"This isn't over Ray-na!" I hear T-Bag call after me as I disappear out onto the tier.

I attempt to run, but it does not work. Everyone is rushing to make it back to their cells, the small elevated corridor filled with men twice my size, pushing and shoving, not caring about hurting each other, only wanting to avoid the SWAT team whenever they finally break into the cell block.

I am almost at the stairs when I feel someone elbow me in the spine, sending me stumbling into the nearest cell. I catch myself on the bed frame, straightening up and allowing a quiet groan to escape my lips.

I cautiously step out of the cell, glancing down the walk way, seeing the prisoners begin to dissipate. My eyes fall on a familiar face, and for a split second I am filled with relief. It is Bob, and although he is bloody and broken, he is walking along, gripping the railing, leaving the cell alive. I feel a smile rise to my face, a dizzying grin, as I step out onto the walkway.

The smile quickly leaves my face as I see a hand appear on his shoulder, causing him to turn, to see who is grabbing him. And when I see the face, with the high cheekbones, the devilish grin, the look of triumph glinting behind his eyes, I know what is about to happen.

The shank glints in the dim light of the cell block, and within a second T-Bag has embedded it into Bob's stomach. He withdraws it, and even though I am too far away to hear what is happening, I can sense the moans of pain, the sound of metal tearing flesh, a sound that I have heard too many times before. "No!" I scream, forgetting for a second where I am, who I am with, and every instinct of self preservation that is inside me. I dart forward, too slow to stop the shank slicing into Bob for a second time, and for him to be pushed over the yellow railings, hitting the bottom floor with a dull thud. I gasp, inhaling sharply, seeing T-Bag look up and meet my eyes.

"You - " I choke out, but he raises his finger to his lips, making a shhh noise. He steps forward, grabbing my wrist and placing the bloody shred of metal into my hand.

"One for the team, Ray-na." He growls into my ear and walks away.


	7. Towards Freedom

I step outside into the clear, cool air, and I let out a sigh. It is undeniably refreshing to be outside after the stifling heat of the riots, after the sweat, the stagnant, oppressive atmosphere, the claustrophobia. I hesitate momentarily as men file past me, hurriedly making their way over to whatever group their affiliate themselves with. I usually dread this time, but today, with the wind on my face and natural light falling on my eyes, I welcome it.

"Ray." I hear a gruff voice say my name and for a second I do not know who could be looking for me, I glance to my right to see Abruzzi standing a few feet away from me, a serious expression on his face. I clear my throat, unsure of why he needs my attention, "Come here." He nods, motioning for me to accompany him. I let out a small sigh and march myself over to his side, glancing up at him.

"Yes?" I murmur.

"About what you saw yesterday." He starts with his voice low so we will not be overheard. I see that he is staring into the distance, at a group of men perched on the bleachers. One of them I recognize as Michael, and another is Sucre. I audibly groan.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, you could freaking have me dead and buried before anyone even believes what I'm saying." I explain. He shakes his head, and starts off across the yard, expecting me to follow.

"It's not that." He reassures me as I fall into step next to him.

"Then why bring it up?" I ask.

"It ain't safe for you here, behind the bars with these animals," I raise my eyebrows, wondering if he thinks this is news to me, "I don't want you here."

"Excuse me?" I growl, unsure if it was a threat or not.

"I want you out. I want you over that wall with us. I don't want to leave you behind." He clarifies and I nod slowly, seeing Michael and Sucre glance up as we are approach.

"I don't think it's that simple, John. I'm not your responsibility, I can look after myself." I know that this is not necessarily true, but I am still willing to fight my own battles, and freedom is not necessarily something I am striving for.

"No, you can't." John hisses, and I am almost offended, "You're doing alright for now, but what if they find out? What if someone else does the math, figures out that most prisoners don't get a room all to themselves and are never seen in the showers? A boy as pretty as you doesn't go unnoticed for long. They'll figure it out."

"I'll be careful." I suggest, although whether or not that will make a difference is debatable. John lets out a laugh, that tells me he is not even considering any other plan of action.

"Careful? Ray, it isn't about being careful, it's about the fact that you're a time bomb. You've proven yourself already, you don't need to put yourself at risk anymore." He stops momentarily to catch my eye, "You're through that hole with us."

"And I don't have a say on the matter?" I ask, he shakes my head.

"If you're saying 'no', then you don't."

"Do they have a say on the matter?" I nod in the direction of Michael and Sucre, and he frowns.

"I'll convince them." He promises, and walks over to them. I clench my jaw. It is not that I'm self-destructive, or maybe it is. Maybe I'm determined to get myself killed, maybe I know that my life is over but haven't the guts to put a permanent end to it myself. I just see nothing for me on the outside, nothing that I want or need.

I step towards the group of men, and immediately feel unwanted. Michael tenses up as his eyes land on mine and I clear my throat, glancing instinctively towards John, knowing that he is the reason I am here to begin with.

"Who's this?" Michael grunts and nods at me.

"Ray." I spit out.

"You met him the other day..." John starts, but Michael doesn't seem too keen to hear him out.

"I remember. But why is he here John?" Michael asks.

"He ain't gonna squeal." Abruzzi starts.

"That's good to know, still doesn't explain why he's standing here." Michael points out.

"Look, I don't want to even be here." I murmur to John.

"I want him in." John announces, and Michael shuts his eyes, pressing his thumbs into the bridge of his nose.

"We can't afford anymore baggage." I glance towards Abruzzi and I see his brow furrow, a frown forming on his face.

"Well, if you don't take this baggage," He growls, "There ain't gonna be a flight for you to catch." Michael for some reason listens to this, and glances towards Sucre, who shrugs. He runs a hand over his shaved head, before letting out a loud sigh.

"Fine, but no more tag alongs." Michael warns, throwing me a glare. I see Abruzzi smile, an odd one of mixed relief and triumph, and steps towards the bleachers and sits down next to Michael, meeting my eyes momentarily, as if to tell me that he's got this, I don't have to worry anymore, I'm under his wing.

I sigh and perch myself down on the lowest bleacher, listening to Michael talk in some strange metaphor about New York, California and route 66. It is clear that he is discussing the escape route, but the specifics are lost to me, instead I keep to myself, knowing that I am not welcome, knowing that the best thing I can do is stay out of the way.

After a few a seconds I notice T-Bag, walking over to us, a smile on his face as he catches my eye and gives me a swift nod. I look down at my lap, knowing that he is the one person in the whole prison that I am too avoid no matter what.

"If we don't get in that room, we're not getting out of here." Michael sighs, and it is only then that he notices T-Bag as he comes to a stop in front of us.

"I'm feeling kinda... left out. New York, California, St. Louis? What are we discussing?" He asks.

"We're talking baseball, actually." Michael replies without flinching.

"Huh? Well that happens to be a subject I know quite a bit about." T-Bag sneers as he kneels on the step next to me, glancing down and throwing me a wink. I scowl and glance at Michael.

"What a shame, the conversation's over." Abruzzi growls, rising to his feet and nodding at me to move. I grit my teeth, not appreciating the current position I am in, running after Abruzzi like a lost dog. I do as I'm expected, as everyone stands, not planning on carrying on a conversation with T-Bag.

"Really now? Is that anyway to treat a team mate?" T-Bag asks. We head towards the door that leads back into the prison, walking across the yard, heading back to the cell block, "I'm comin' along on this endeavor whether you like it or not. 'Cause I got a hell of a singing voice otherwise!" T-Bag threatens as we continue to walk away from him, hearing his voice growing distant. I sigh as Michael falls into step next to me and Abruzzi.

"I won't take that piece of crap along. I won't do it." Abruzzi exclaims.

"We won't have to, he'll be out of the picture soon enough." Michael promises, and for a second I think he is talking of killing him off, sticking him when he manages to get some sort of alone time with him. He does not strike me as the type to shank an unsuspecting person, no matter how cruel and sadistic the individual might be. It isn't until I am back inside my cell, thinking the promise through in my head, that I realise he was not talking about killing him, but the fact that the C.O's were currently out for blood for whoever had killed Bob, and all of the evidence pointed them in the direction of T-Bag.

* * *

><p>"Nakamura!" I hear a gruff voice call me from outside my cell as I sit with my back propped up against the rough brick wall, a book in my hands, trying to take my mind off my current living situation by focusing on fictional characters whose problems seem so incredibly trivial by comparison. I toss the book to the side, pushing myself upright and stepping out onto the walkway. It is a Correctional Officer, and I glance down at his nametag, reading the word Bellick written across the small strip of metal.<p>

"Yeah, boss?" I ask. He steps closer and it is then I see the grief on his face, sadness and rage mixed into a conflicted facial expression. He clears his throat, lowering his voice.

"Look, I know you're new here and all, but I also see that you've been taken in by some of the big players." He starts, my eyes automatically flicking up to where Abruzzi stands, a level above us, leaning against the yellow railings deep in conversation with his cellmate. I narrow my eyes, unsure of what this C.O. is asking, "I'm not asking you to be a rat, I'm asking you to do what is right." I feel realization settle over me an I let out a reluctant sigh.

"You're wondering about Bob…" I mumble. He nods slowly, "Look, if I know anything I'd say. Bob was… he was one of the good ones. He kept an eye out for me when I first got here. But I can't help, it's hard to keep track of what happened that day. I'm sorry."

"Well, if anyone tells you anything, and I mean anything, tell me." He begs and I feel a small pang of guilt in my chest as I nod my head.

"Sure thing." I mutter as he turns and walks away. I slide back into my cell, stepping over to the sink that is attached to the wall, and lean against the cold metal, my fingers gripping the edges. I inhale deeply, trying to calm the nausea in my stomach that is telling me to be honest, telling me that even though it will cost Michael his escape, it will cost Abruzzi his escape, justice has to be served. I glance up, catching my eye in the mirror, seeing my shaved head, my clenched jaw, my hollow eyes. I decide that justice is over-rated, I decide that even though something can seem like the right thing, like it will correct the balance and restore order, it just leaves you empty handed and hollow.

"You wouldn't happen to be a rat now, would you Ray-na?" I hear a familiar hiss come from behind me and I straighten up, turning around slowly to see T-Bag leaning against the open cell door, his eyes narrow.

"I'm not the one threatening to squeal at the drop of the hat." I spit out. He steps towards me swiftly, and before I understand what is happening he has me against the wall, his hands pinning my arms be my side, his body trapping mine. I getting good at controlling my fear, and I don't blink as my back comes into sharp contact with the bricks.

"I ain't playin' Ray-na, I saw you getting all cosy with Bellick, ain't slippin' him info to get this nice cozy cell all to yourself?" His breath hits me in my face and I can see his teeth, shining in the light as he bares them.

"Seriously, we're doing this dance again?" I growl, narrowing my eyes. I can feel his grip tighten on me, clearly determined to frighten me, to intimidate me, to get some form of reaction other than exasperation, "I ain't no rat, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not gonna say a word."

"I believe that and I'll be rotting in the hole by the end of the week." He snarls.

I scowl, "I kept my mouth shut, alright. Bellick asked; I played dumb. I had my chance to squeal and I didn't take it. I'm not gonna talk!" I watch as his eyes narrow, trying to decide whether or not he could trust what I was telling him. I let out a quiet, frustrated sigh and run my tongue along my lower lip. I reach up, my fingertips wrapping themselves around his arms, "I know you think that everyone is out to get you, I know that you think I'd sooner see you strung up than out over the wall, I know you think that the only person who would look out for you is yourself," as I say the words I feel myself believing them, understanding them, and a strange tone of sympathy seeps into my voice, "But you don't have to worry about me. We're on the same side right now." I can feel his grip on my arms relax slightly, and he narrows his eyes. I know that this is the first time he has heard someone say something like this, someone making an attempt to reassure him, to relate to him. I clear my throat, reminding myself that for all intents and purposes I am a man.

"I'm not going to turn you in, and you can believe me when I say that." I tell him with a steady but soft voice. I see the muscles in his jaw flex below the surface of his skin, his eyes searching my face, desperately seeking for proof, and I wonder whether or not he's ever had anyone to rely on, anyone that wouldn't turn on him to benefit themselves. I'm guessing from his cynicism it is a new concept and I inhaled sharply, "You can trust me."

"Yeah, right." He spits out and I shrug.

"It's the truth. You can. You shouldn't be worrying about me," I repeat, "what you should be worrying about is how you are going to get rid of that incriminating photograph. Let's face it, the screws are getting tighter 'round here, it's only a matter of time before they shake you and your cell down, and if they find that photo of Bob's daughter on you, or under your mattress, or wherever you like to hide it, you'll be in the hole so fast you won't know what's hit you."

He knows that I have a point, and his grip on my arms relax before his fingers slide away, freeing me. I exhale slowly and clear my throat, "I'm keeping my mouth shut," I tell him for the last time, "But I'm not the only factor in this equation."

* * *

><p>I run my hands down the front of the blue jumpsuit that I've been given as I walk along behind Abruzzi. I have been roped into P.I, the prison's work program, supposedly an integral part of the escape. I fall into step beside John, glancing back at the other men who have specifically chosen for this crew. "How the hell do you swing something like this?" I whisper.<p>

He glances down at me, frowning, "Like what?"

"Running P.I." I explain. He smirks.

"Money, Ray." He tells me, "Money can do just about anything."

"There seems to be a bit of confusion," A southern drawl cuts across the air and I turn to see T-Bag leaning up against the fence that borders the yard, his fingers looped through the mesh holes, his tongue running along his lower lip, "I'm supposed to be on this detail."

I hear Abruzzi let out a deep laugh and turn to the guard who is escorting us to our job, "I don't think so."

"Aw, John." T-bag groans, chasing after us as we continue to walk along the fence, "You can't be serious? Not after our long, illustrious history together. All those nights we spent in 'New York City', 'California', in 'St. Louis'?"

Abruzzi comes to an abrupt halt, the rest of us following suit, Michael glancing back at him and meeting his eyes. I feel a knot begin to tighten in my stomach as I glance to see T-Bag smile triumphantly, "Those were good times, weren't they John? Tell the badge here about it, 'cause if you don't want to, I certainly could." I could see John in the corner of my eye tensing up. I clear my throat, stepping closer to him.

"There's not much of a choice here." I say quietly. Abruzzi turns and looks down at me, I raise my eyebrows expectantly, knowing that our hands are tied. He lets out a reluctant sigh and turns to the guard, giving him a small nod in agreement.

We make our way to a charred storage room which has clearly been gutted by a fire. I raise my eyebrows as we step inside, staring at the scorched walls and inhaling the scent of burnt wood. I turn and look at the rest of the group as they step inside, waiting for T-Bag to arrive.

"I ain't taking him along on the outside." I hear Abruzzi whisper to me. I shrug, folding my arms across my chest.

"We've got to keep him happy, otherwise none of us are getting out." I explain, glancing up at him, "Anyway, we have time between now and then to figure out how to shake him loose."

Eventually T-Bag arrives, wearing a matching blue jump suit and a proud grin on his face, scanning each and everyone of us, catching my eye and giving me curt nod and a wink. I look away, staring down at my feet.

"I want this place gutted, the dry wall's gotta be torn out, the studs gotta be removed," The C.O. starts, and I recognise him as Bellick, the one who quizzed me about Bob.

"Boss, we got some toxic issues here, asbestos to start with..." Abruzzi explains.

"Take it up with the union." Bellick cuts him off abruptly, "All I'm sayin' is this room is your only priority now. It better be brand spanking new by the time that you're done. And if anyone's thinking of getting cute and trying to trunk one of these tools out of here, Brady's got the outline of every single piece of hardware in here, and in the end of every day, if every single piece doesn't match up, you're all going to the hole."

He slowly makes his way over to the door, the other C.O's that had accompanied us following him, pulling the heavy metal door over and closing us in. Abruzzi steps over to me as the rest of the group rush to move a table, which is sitting in the center of the room, over the side.

"Listen out at the door, okay?" He mumbles to me, "Give us a heads out if you hear anyone coming." I nod and walk over, crouching down slightly and moving so my ear is close to the metal, making sure I will be able to hear the footsteps of someone approaching.

"This goes down 4 feet, connects to the main line below, all we have to do is widen it, and we've got ourselves an on ramp to route 66." I hear Michael explain, and I glance over my shoulder to see that they have cleared the center of the room and knelt down next to a small circular metal grate. The men began to grab sledgehammers which sat beside the wall, reading to start breaking through the concrete.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lincoln says as he was handed his, "They're gonna hear this."

"They won't." Michael reassures him, pulling over a cloth sheet and setting it over the grate, so that the sound of metal striking concrete wouldn't echo through the room. Michael picks up another sledgehammer, moving to hand it to T-Bag, hesitating slightly, obviously unsure of whether or not this is a good idea.

"Come on pretty, we're a team now!" T-Bag insists, Michael narrows his eyes, but throws the hammer at T-Bag anyway, who catches it with ease. The room falls into an odd silence as they stare down at the sheet, unsure how to start.

"Best get crackin', eh?" T-Bag chimes in. Lincoln immediately drops his hammer, pointing a threatening finger at T-Bag.

"You, shut up." Lincoln spits out, and T-Bag closes his mouth, obviously knowing that being stuck in a room full of men, who are twice his size and armed with sledghammers, isn't the right situation to start an argument. I watch as Michael raises his hammer, before bringing it down hard on the floor, the concrete splintering beneath him with a dull thud, breaking through the surface, towards freedom.


	8. Fresh Meat

I glance out from beneath the dark blue cap that is pulled down over my eyes, scanning the shelves in front of me as I scribble hastily on the clipboard I am nursing in my arms. I hear Bellick behind me, shifting his weight, watching over my shoulder as Michael walks past him into the guards room. I chew on my bottom lip, counting the buckets of ready-mix-cement in front of me, almost holding my breath until I finally hear the footsteps of Bellick leaving.

I hear the sound of rushed footsteps in the next room, the rest of the team rushing to get to work, to continue to smash away at the ground, widening the hole. My eyes dart out to the yard, making sure no one is coming.

"You look good in a hat," I hear a familiar drawl. I glance up, following the voice, and see T-Bag leaning against the door behind me. I smile at him.

"Thanks," I sigh, returning my attention to the shelves, running the pencil down the checklist on the page. I can feel his eyes on me, the small hairs on the back of my neck prickling. I clear my throat, slowly turning to face him, and narrow my eyes, "What do you need, T-Bag?" I ask.

"I've been thinking," He starts, pushing himself away from the door and stepping closer to me, "You don't happen to be tugging on his pocket?"

I raise my eyebrows immediately, not expecting this question, but I quickly frown, "Whose?" I ask, not following his line of thought. He lets out a breathy laugh, amused by my reaction.

"Abruzzi's, you two seem to be getting mighty close lately." He clarifies. I smirk, shaking my head slowly.

"I don't tug on noone's pocket." I tell him forcefully.

"Then why's he doing you all these favors?" He raises an arm and leans against the shelves, "You just stroll on into P.I like you're old friends, while I," He cocks his head to one side, "I had to... pressurize... them."

"Pressurize," I look at him flatly, "you mean downright coerce them."

"Exactly my point, boy." He growls. I clench my jaw and shrug.

"Look, I did him a favor on the outside, that's all you need to know." I tell him bluntly, "He owes me, this is him repaying the favor," It's the way prison works, you don't get anything for nothing, it's an infinite cycle of debt. I scratch the pencil in my hand against the paper on the clipboard, but as I do so I can still feel the gaze of T-Bag's eyes on the back of my neck, and I straighten my back and turn my head to look at him once more, "What?" I spit out.

"How old are you?" He asks, and I can feel him scruitinizing my skin, counting any lines on my face for a clue.

"I'm 18." I growl. Immediately his eyebrows rise into the creases on his forehead and he releases a whistle from his lips. I stare at him, trying not to let the admittance of my youth shake my exterior.

"Pretty _and_ young, you gonna be tugging on someone's pocket soon enough." He tells me with a smirk, his eyes scanning the length of my body. I allow the arm holding the clipboard to drop by my side, and meet his eyes.

"Well it ain't gonna be yours." My words appear to be more cutting than intended, and I watch as his face drops, his eyes beginning to narrow, his lip beginning to curl. I'm almost shocked at the sudden physical change in the man, his body turns, his fists clench, and suddenly his malicious intent has bubbled to the surface. I try not to flinch, I try not to let fear dance behind my eyes, and instead I smirk, shake my head and sigh, "You're awful sensitive - You need to be able to take a joke."

He falters, his expression changing to a bemused one, and he clears his throat, looking away, suddenly embarrassed at his hostile reaction, "I can take a joke," he counters, and this shocks me even more than his anger. I have not seen him like this, awkward and defensive, not knowing the right thing to say. I am unsure of how to react, and feel an awkward silence settle over the storage unit as I turn back to face the shelves. I second guess myself, rotating on the ball of my foot to face him once more.

"Are you alright?" I ask point blank, my eyes narrow, my expression more confused than concerned. T-Bag clears his throat, pulling his cap down to cast a shadow over his face before adjusting the neck of his jumpsuit.

"I'm fine." He murmurs through his teeth, before meeting my eyes and taking a deep breath, "I'm sorry, by the way, about the other day. I shouldn't have underestimated you." He is talking about Bob, about my advice, about the fact that I had not only covered for him but also gently nudged Abruzzi into taking him on. My eyebrows rise, and I'm unsure how to take this apology, he is not one for sincerity.

"You didn't underestimate me, you judged me." I tell him flatly, my voice low, "You judged me as a self-righteous rat."

"Easy now," he draws the words over his lips, his accent dripping from each syllable, "I was apologising, which I don't do very often. You're in prison, kid, this place starts and ends with judgement – gotta learn that quick or you'll be leaving this place in a body bag."

I look away from him, "Fine," I sigh, recognising that he knows what he's talking about, that to blame him for fear and judgement was blaming him for being human, "Thanks."

* * *

><p>My hands are deep in my pockets, my knuckles scraping against the crumbs of gravel and cement that I have hoarded away. I make my way across the sprawling green of the yard, stopping by the wire mesh that looks out over the entrance, my hands slowly sliding out of my pocket, dust and clumps of rocks falling from my fingertips as my foot grinds them into the dirt.<p>

This was Michael's idea, as we had been breaking through the floor the rubble had been collecting, and we had to find a way to get rid of it without the Screws noticing. So we each lined our pockets with gravel and set about hiding it in the dirt of the yard. I was beginning to get the feeling that Michael Schofield was much more than a common criminal, his ideas were nothing short of genius, his plan had been thought out to the precise measurment and detail. He knew what he was doing, and he was good at it.

"Fresk meat," I hear a familiar drawl as my eyes look up to see the large, yellow school bus, identical to the one that I had arrived on, pull up through the entrance. The doors open and a string of new inmates pour out, the majority of them earing petrified expressions, eyes wide, brows furrowed, far too aware of what was waiting ahead of them.

"I thought you already had a boyfriend." I sigh as I turn my head to see T-Bag leaning against the wire mesh fence with his eyes trained on the new arrivals. It was no secret that T-Bag had a bitch, or a prag, or whichever word you prefer to use. You could hear him in the dead of night, sobbing or choking, depending on what mood T-Bag had been in when he retired to his cell.

"You mean Cherry?" He asks as he surveys his new prey. I roll my eyes, a fitting name for his current young victim, "Boy, you know I got a whole other pocket over here." He turns to catch my eye, his gaze intense, waiting for the inevitable look of disgust to cross my face. It does not come.

"I'm assuming jealousy ain't a problem then?" I ask, and the grin that crosses his face reaches his eyes. He steps closer to me, his head lowering to scrutinise my gaze.

"Why, Ray-na?" He purrs, "Is it a problem for you?"

I clear my throat uncomfortably, unable to hold his gaze, glancing down to where I have crushed rocks into the dirt with my feet. I hear a guard call from across the yard 'Time's up!' and immediately I push myself away from the fence, striding purposefully across the lawn, feeling eyes on the back of my neck, almost sensing the grin on his lips as my spine shuddered. The man specialised in unease.

I walk briskly inside, following the lines of prisoners as they followed suit, making their way back to the cells. As I step over the threshold of Genpop, my eyes instinctively studying the barred cage that we step through as we enter, I feel myself coming into sharp contact with a tall, muscular back. I spring backwards, noticing that the prisoner in front of me was Michael. I step to the side, frowning as I see he has stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide, his mouth agape in horror.

"Michael." I say softly, his gaze transfixed in front of him. I follow his eyes, to the first tier, where a young boy is standing, perched on the railings. I study his face, the fine features, the skin unblemished by age, the slight frame and the eyes that are filled with a strange mix of fear and determination.

It is then I see it, and I wonder how I missed it at first, but around the boy's neck is the thick, bunched material of his bed sheet, tied into a make-shift noose. I feel air escape my lungs as I understand, as everything clicks into place, as I recall the only name that I know this boy by.

"Cherry," the whisper escapes past my lips as the boy steps forward, his feet landing only on air, and his body plummets. I find myself amazed by how quickly gravity can act, and before any other thoughts enter my mind the sheet reaches it's length and the boys fall stops as the tension catches his neck, his body jolting, his feet shaking. There are gasps and shouts as the men around me realise what has just happened. I turn my back on the dangling, kicking body strung up on the walkway, telling myself not to cry, telling myself I am a man.

There are inmates streaming past me, pushing me out of the way to catch a glimpse of the scene, and as I stare out into the entrance way I see T-Bag approach, a look of excitement and curiosity on his face. As he gets closer I see the moment where it hits him, when his eyes land on the body of his cell mate, his prag. I see the glee disappear as the smile lowers, as his gaze drops and his eyes find mine. I can't help but recognise the vacant, desperate expression on his face. It is grief.

* * *

><p>"Come with me." I glance up from where I am perched on the bleachers, absent-mindedly sprinkling crumbled up cement onto the dirt beneath the seats. Abruzzi stands in front of me, and I can immediately tell from his face that something is gravely wrong. I straighten, dusting my hands off, before standing up.<p>

"What's up?" I ask as I hop down, fear rising in my throat.

"I had visitation earlier, we have a big problem." He explains as he starts off across the yard. I frown, and hurriedly walk to keep up with his stride.

"Why are you coming to me?" I ask, "Why not go to Michael?"

"I don't want to worry him unnecessarily," Abruzzi says and I can almost sense a smile in his voice, "But I can trust you, right?" I try not to feel too flattered with this trust, and remind myself that my involvement is most likely due to my lack of significance in the prison as opposed to Abruzzi's impression of my character, but a small smile flutters to my lips.

We reach the other side of the yard, where another set of bleachers tower up beside the mesh fence, and walk over to a man seated on them. He is short, he is fat, he has something he could possibly pass as a goatee on his chin, and I recognise him as part of Abruzzi's usual entourage. As he turns and looks at us, however, I quickly realise that the two are no longer friends – if it's even possible to have friends in prison.

"Did I give you permission to call Philly?" Abruzzi spits out as he stops in front of the small, rotund man. I take a step back, folding my arms across my chest, noting the multiple, significantly larger, men in our company. "I asked you a questions man!"

"There's, um, been a restructure, it comes from Philly himself." The man tells him smugly, "You couldn't deliver Fibonacci, so I'm the man in here now." I furrow my brow, not completely following what is going on. The little that I know already is about enough to go on, Abruzzi being the head of the mob, running things on it's behalf from within the prison, and being fed money from the outside, clearly pissed off the wrong guy and has been effectively cut off. I clear my throat, understanding now why he didn't want to go straight to Michael. Being cut off from the outside meant no money, no money meant no P.I., and no P.I. meant no escape.

"Jelly, tell you what," Abruzzi growls, stepping forward towards the man, "why don't you go and fetch me a bag of chips, pretend this never happened."

"I'm telling you John, the sooner you face facts, the better off we'll all be." Jelly tells him calmly. At this Abruzzi lets out a laugh of disbelief, and I shift my weight uncomfortably from on foot to the other.

"I could kill you in a heartbeat" Abruzzi threatens, and moves as if he is stepping away, but instead spins around and grabs Jelly roughly by the throat. Immediately the two men who had been perched by his side jump up, fists raised. I do not know what to do, and so I do what my instincts tell me to do, ignoring the common sense screaming in my head. I raise a curled fist, and I swing.

Through sheer luck, I hit one of the larger men, square on the jaw. My lack of upper body strength and the minimal weight behind the punch means that he flinches, but out of sheer shock more than anything, and their attention is now directed at me. I panic, and I swing again, this time throwing myself forward, hitting him on the nose, hearing a crunch and feeling warm liquid spray against the skin of my hand. I hear someone yelling, but I'm already trying to get another hit in, until I feel a firm hand grip my elbow, pulling it back, tearing me away from the confused inmate nursing a bleeding nose. I then feel an arm snake round my neck, causing me to fall backwards, unable to move.

I quickly realise that John is pinned in an identical manner, and from the angle I am leaning at, and the scruffy stubble I feel on the back of my neck, I know that I am being held firmly in place by the man called Jelly. "Somehow I doubt that!" Jelly snarls as I twist awkwardly in his grasp. I feel his arm tighten, and I let out a choked gasp, pain shooting through my shoulder. As I glance over to John I can see fear in his eyes, and it takes me a second to realise that he's fearing for my life. "You can't even fight your own battles, you get this kid to do it for you. The sooner you face facts, the better off we will be," I feel his head turn, and I grit my teeth as his breath hits my ear, "and if you don't... we'll go after this little runt first. You're yesterday's news John!"

Suddenly his grip loosens and I feel the palm of his hand between my shoulder blades, pushing me roughly forward so my knees give out and I hit the dirt. I look up to see John shaking the two men off his own shoulders, stepping over and reaching down to help me up. I grip his hand, pulling myself upright while dusting down the dirt on my knees.

"Did I screw everything up?" I murmur, suddenly worried that my burst of aggression worsened the situation. Abruzzi looks down at me, his eyes sweeping my mud stained prison blues, and shakes his head with a smile.

"You broke his nose, that's about the only good thing that came out of this." He tells me, and I swear I can hear an affectionate tone to his voice, "You alright?"

"Yeah," I sigh breathlessly, "I'm fine. Are you?"

He glances over at the men now following the line of the fence, walking away as the victors, and he shakes his head solemnly, "No," he tells me decidedly, "I'm not."

* * *

><p>I stand awkwardly for a few seconds, running this through in my head. And while I tell myself I am being nothing short of stupid, something is pushing me forward, something is telling me that despite the fact I know I'm being an idiot I still want to do the right thing. I wonder if maybe the guilt of my crime is weighing on me a little more than I'd care to admit, if maybe life isn't as easily given and taken as I'd want to believe, but right now I don't want to think about that. As I stare up at the lonesome figure on the bleachers, my guilt isn't something to reason with, it's present without the need of definition.<p>

"T-" The single letter passes my lips in a choked call, and as he turns his head and meets my eyes I find myself unable to finish his name.

"Ray-na," he coo's, and I inhale sharply, making my way up the bleachers, using each seat as a step, "to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Do people not normally seek out your company?" I ask sarcastically as I take a seat beside him. He glowers at me, and I can see his teeth clench from the ripple of his muscle on his jaw.

"What you want? You ain't got no favors comin' to you." He spits out. I lean back and shrug.

"I don't want anything." I admit, "I just want to know how you're doing."

"Bullshit."

"Call it what you want." I sigh.

"You here so you can report back to Papa Abruzzi?" He asks me, and he turns to meet my eyes, asking, in an almost cautious manner, "why the hell would you care how I am anyhow?"

"Cherry." I say simply, and immediately he turns away.

"Unless you're offerin' to replace him I'd get going." He spits out, and I feel my heart sink.

"You know I'm not." I tell him sternly, I don't want this gesture to be misinterpreted. "Look, it only happened the other day, I just wanted to check on you."

"Look, Ray-na, I'm a big boy." He growls, and I quickly understand that my concern is interpreted as an insult, an implication of his weakness, "and I'm on the rebound already." He is no longer looking at me, instead his gaze is held by something across the yard. I frown, turn, and see what he is looking at.

It's a new guy, a fish. He is swaggering across the yard, and swagger is really the only word for it, his body is tilted at an angle, and his arms swing lazily from his shoulders – one of which is exposed by a rolled up sleeve, the tattooed initials on his skin showing with pride. He is young, older than me maybe, but still young enough to stand out. He reminds me of vanilla ice.

"You've got to be kidding me," I murmur, T-Bag, with all his white pride, lusting over a man who clearly overly identified with african american culture considering the paleness of his skin.

"He's got spunk." T-Bag tells me as we watch the boy attempt to strike up conversation with a group of black men, only to be shoved out of the way.

"He's got spunk," I sigh, "I'll give him that."

The boy walks away from the group of men with a scowl on his face, trying to brush off the obvious rejection. I see that he's making his way over to this set of bleachers and my stomach tightens instinctively as my eyes dart back to T-Bag. He runs a hand through his hair, straightening his tight, white t-shirt and licking his lower lip.

"Excuse me, Ray-na." He mutters as the boy sits on the bottom seat, and T-Bag stands up, hopping down and sitting next to him, turning to speak. I let out a sigh as the unease in my gut grows, and I lean back, my eyes sweeping the yard, wondering if I could find Abruzzi, Michael, someone to distract me so I do not have to watch the victimisation unfolding in front of my eyes.

Don't get me wrong, a part of me tells me to stop it, to run down and tell T-Bag where to stick it. To tell the young man that he's no idea what he's getting himself into. To look out for him the same way others looked out for me. But the begrudging respect that T-Bag has for me is fragile, and right now my interests come first, selflessness ends at the prison gates.

Suddenly, I hear a shout, and I glance down to see the boy spring up from the bleachers, recoiling in horror.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm your friend," T-Bag tells him, and I feel a small smile rise to my lips as I realise T-Bag's advances have been spurned.

"Yeah, a fruity friend! I don't need none of that!" The boy yells.

"Easy now..." T-Bag says calmly.

"You think you're gettin' up in this you got another thing coming, you homo!" I feel my stomach lurch as the sentence hangs in the air, the tension rising with every breath. I rise to my feet, and I'm unsure of why. Maybe the run in the other day with Abruzzi made me grow a pair, maybe I felt responsible, maybe I felt like I had to intervene, to diffuse the situation – the question I couldn't quite answer though was who was I trying to protect?

"You got a foul mouth on you, you know that?" T-Bag says cooly, with a laugh in his voice, and I marvel at his calm exterior.

"Yeah, I do. And if you come near me again I'm gonna kill you," the younger boy threatens, and immediately I spring forward, as if a switch has been flipped, and I hop down the bleachers, coming to a stop next to T-Bag. I can feel his gaze flick briefly to me, trying to figure out what I'm doing.

"Do you know who you're talking to?" I hiss at the boy, and as the question passes my lips I'm not sure what point I'm trying to make, I'm not sure if he takes it for the warning it is, and as I turn to look briefly at T-Bag, who wears a grin of pride on his lips, I realise my intention has been inverted.

"Ya hear that?" T-Bag asks me with a laugh in his voice, and I know he thinks I was showing him respect, that I am on his side, "Well, then you're just gonna have to little man."

The boy runs a hand through his already slicked back hair, his eyes jumping from me to T-Bag, fear evident in his eyes, before he turns to leave. I hear the guards bellow in the distance, and I watch as T-Bag jumps off the bleachers before swinging round to face me. His grin is broad, it is dizzying, and it almost looks out of place on his face, a face I'd normally associate with fear. I watch as he winks at me, and turns on his heel, in hot pursuit of his new prey.


	9. One Man Too Many

As I walk along into the guards room, my hands in my pockets, my head bent, following Michael in through the door, I can't help but feel T-Bag's eyes on the back of my head. It's a sensation I am getting used to, one I can recognise when I feel the hairs prickle and my spine shiver. I turn, and see the broad grin on his face as he catches my eye.

"What are you grinning about?" Michael spits out, his voice filled with hatred.

"Oh, just the fact that I'm gonna be out in the real world in a little bit," T-Bag sighs as he walks along with his arms swinging almost jovially by his sides, "The fact that I'm gonna get me one final piece of tail certainly don't hurt either," His eyes lock with mine, and I know he is talking about the boy that we had the run in with in the yard, the boy who I could hear sobbing in the middle of the night while T-Bag sang out threats and taunts from between his bars. I tear my eyes away from him, directing them to my feet, "Nothin' like tail, eh Schofield?" He sneers.

I step over to the desk that sits over the hole we have been chipping away at in the middle of the room, picking it up and moving it to one side with the help of Abruzzi. Suddenly a loud, pained cry rings out in the small room. I swing around and see T-Bag, doubled over, grasping at his shin as Michael stands over him with a metal pipe in his hand. Immediately my reflex is to help, to intervene, to pick the man up off the floor, but as I dart forward I feel Abruzzi's hand on my shoulder, tugging me back to reality.

"Son of a bitch!" T-bag squeals.

"This ends now." Michael's voice is deep and grave, silencing the entire room.

"I'm gonna sing like a whole tree full of birds now," T-bag corrects him, his face flushed, his teeth grinding against eachother, "BADGE!"

Michael moves swiftly forward, forcing T-bag closer to the floor, restricting his movement, "You want to sing? Then sing," He challenges, "But you know what I think? You don't have the guts. You want out of here just as much as the rest of us."

There is a loud clang that almost causes me to jump, and my eyes dart towards the door as a guard steps through it. His eyes sweep the room and see's T-bag crouched on the floor, the pain evident in his eyes. "We got a problem here?" He asks.

There is a beat of silence, before T-bag pushes himself up off the ground and grins, "No," He says smoothly, "I thought we was... uh, missing some tools here. My bad."

The guard scowls and I can see Michael grin smugly out of the corner of my eye, "Get back to work," the guard instructs as he turns on his heel, the door shutting behind him.

I watch as Michael steps forward again towards T-Bag, his voice low, serious, but loud enough for us all to hear him, "You and I may be stuck together in this little dance, but I call the shots. First shot, that kid out there - you don't touch him, **ever**. Do we understand each other?" I can see the frustration play on T-Bag's face as he looks away from Michael, his eyes searching the room until they find what they're looking for.

He catches my eye, he see's Abruzzi's hand still clamped on my shoulder, and a grin splits momentarily across his face before he covers it up, turning back to face Michael.

"We do." He says simply.

* * *

><p>"It's sorted," I glance up at the sound of Abruzzi's voice to see him standing in the door of my cell, a triumphant grin on his face. I push myself into a seated position from where I'd been lying on the bed, placing the book I'd been reading to one side. I narrow my eyes, searching the joy on his face for an answer.<p>

"Jelly?" I say the name cautiously, "P.I. You're back on top!"

His grin is contagious as he nods sharply, and I smile back, "We shouldn't be having any problems from here on out."

"How'd you swing that?" I ask, and his grin falters. He shrugs, glancing out on the walkway momentarily.

"You don't need to know the details," I know not to push any further. The next day I will walk past Jelly in the yard to see an eye patch strapped to his face, I will hear stories of smashed lightbulbs, and I will piece it together myself.

"But we're back on track," I confirm, and he nods once more.

"I've been meaning to thank you for helping me out the other day," Abruzzi tells me. I smile and shrug.

"It was nothin'"

"It wasn't nothing, not in the position you're in. You need to watch yourself, keep yourself safe, can't have you blowing your cover before we get out over the wall." His voice is low and hushed so only I will hear.

"I know, I'm being careful."

"You're not," Abruzzi cuts in, and I feel offended, "You're getting too comfortable, you've got to stay away from T-Bag." I feel the eye roll happening before I can stop it.

"Right, I'm not exactly seeking out his company." I tell him sarcastically.

"No, but he's seeking out yours," Abruzzi points out, "The man may be an inbred pedophile, but he's also observant, and smart, and he's the last person you want to figure this all out."

"I'll be careful," I reassure him, but I can see uncertainty on his face, "I promise, I'll watch myself." He sighs, pushing himself backwards.

"Good boy."

* * *

><p>I lean against the wall, staring down the path, watching as the last CO leaves my sight. I turn, nodding curtly to T-Bag who is leant against the metal door of the guard's room. His body relaxes and the fist that he had raised in preparation falls to his side. I expect him to push himself away from the door, the danger having passed, but I watch as he instead presses his ear against the metal, hoping to hear something other than the chipping sound of concrete through the thick metal.<p>

"You really should learn to trust more." I murmur, knowing that this is poor advice in prison. He shoots me a glare, the concentration on his expression evident.

"Excuse me if I have trust issues, but if I remember correctly Pretty took a crowbar to my leg." I see him shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well, you have a tendency to get people's backs up." I remind him. I hear the soft padding of footsteps and two distinct voices in the distance and return to my post by the path, seeing a guard and a prisoner in a dark blue jumpsuit approaching. I feel my stomach lurch.

"Do I get _your _back up?" I hear T-Bag hiss as I pivot on my heel to face him. His voice is thick and husky, and the glint in his eyes reveals his true predatory nature. I clear my throat, reminding myself of Abruzzi's warning, and hastily shake my head.

"Badge." I growl through a clenched jaw, ignoring his question. Immediately he raises his fist and knocks sharply on the metal, the clang echoing through the adjoining room, alerting the rest of the men to the approaching danger. We can hear the rushed, muffled noises behind the door as they hurriedly return everything back to its original place.

Bellick appears in the doorway and stood next to him is a tall, bald African-american man who I don't recognise. Bellick steps forward and pulls the door open, revealing an unsuspicious scene of a group of convicts deligintly working away, "This Con says he's on a job in here," he announces with disinterest.

"Oh, I don't think so," Abruzzi says while shaking his head. I glance to my side, catching T-Bag's eye, and he shrugs with the same confusion that plays on my face.

"You heard the man," Bellick groans, moving to push the newcomer out of the room.

"Hold on C.O., one second," he protests, stepping into the center of the room purposefully. I hear a tell tale creak and my stomach drops as I realise he is standing above the flimsy sheet of wood covering the hole, "Are you sure about that?" He asks, as he taps his foot, "Are you sure you can't use an extra hand?"

"You know anything about construction?" Abruzzi asks.

"Concrete's my specialty, can you dig it?" He replies. I glance towards Michael and see him nod discretely, giving the subtle seal of approval.

"Okay boss, sign him up." Abruzzi sighs, defeated. Bellick rolls his eyes, but turns to leave, stepping past me and T-Bag as we stand next to the rows of shelves housing construction equipment.

"Who is that?" I whisper quietly to T-Bag. I can tell from the sour expression on his face that this new addition is not someone he cares for.

"C-Note." He drawls underneath his breath, "Seen him fraternizing with Pretty with the yard on occasion, guess they're closer than I thought. It's gettin' a little too dark in here, if you know what I mean."

"Nice." I spit out sarcastically.

"That room is awful crowded right now," T-bag whispers, his tone serious. I inhale sharply, and nod, knowing that it is not a good thing.

* * *

><p>I stare down at the cavernous hole, a sledgehammer settled on my shoulder, my eyes drinking in the dark pit before me. With each passing day we had been getting closer and closer to freedom, the hole widening and deepening. I pick up the sledgehammer, and using the momentum supplied by gravity as opposed to my strength, I swing it down hard on the blanketed edge of the pit.<p>

"Want me to take over?" I hear a voice, laced with a spanish accent, ask me. I glance over my shoulder, my face shining and red with sweat and exertion, and grin at him. I nod sharply and hand him the sledgehammer, dusting off my hands and my legs while taking a step to the side.

There is a loud clang and I look up to see Michael, Lincoln and C-Note step into the room. The look of anger on C-Note's face was radiant, and I hold my breath, knowing that bad news is on it's way.

"Stop digging!" C-Note yells, and we all obediently stand still, confused and anxious, "Apparently college boy here did the math, figured out that we got one too many clowns in the car. So one of us is in here diggin', but his seat ain't guaranteed." I feel shockwaves ripple through the group and my eyes instinctively search for T-Bag, who had predicted this only days ago. He isn't here.

"How's this your problem man?" Lincoln asks, immediately jumping to the defense of his brother.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about." Michael tries to reassure us, but fails.

"I'm not gonna dig if I'm not gonna go!" Sucre exclaims defiantly, throwing the sledgehammer to one side. I uncomfortably shift my weight from one foot to the other, running my hand across my scalp.

"I didn't want in on this anyway!" I announce, and Michael and Lincoln look at me with a sense of disbelief and hope, "I don't have to go." I am not sure whether I am being sincere, whether this is my usual impulse to diffuse situations whatever way I can, or if I was never infatuated by the idea of freedom to begin with.

"Are you sure?" Michael asks cautiously, as if he might frighten me off.

"I don't have anything waiting for me out there," I admit, "whether I'm over or behind that wall makes no difference to me."

"No!" I hear Abruzzi cry, and I swing round to see his face filled with anger and panic, "He doesn't know what he's saying," he tells Michael, as if I am unable to speak for myself, "Ray's coming."

"It's okay," I insist, but Abruzzi is not listening.

"You're coming with us. You're just a kid."

"I'll be fine."

"You'll die." A silence falls over the room momentarily as me and Abruzzi stare at eachother, our jaws clenched, unable to communicate what we really want to in this room full of convicts.

"Well someone has to be cut." Lincoln finally admits. Abruzzi tears his eyes away from me and exhales slowly.

"I think we can all agree who that should be, right?" He says. I hear the door slide open, and with an act of perfect timing T-Bag appears. I hold my breath as the room falls silent.

"Pardon me for interrupting!" T-Bag says, walking in with a subtle smile on his face as he sniffs the hair, "but, uh – what's that smell?" He inhales once again, "it smells a little like _conspiracy._"

I bite down on my lower lip, unable to stifle the inherent guilt bubbling in my gut, "We have to get back to work," Michael announces, brushing off T-Bag's comment.

"Yeah, before you do I have an announcement to make," T-Bag tells us as he straightens up, "I've been growing leery the way you all talk like I'm a lesser man. So I bought an insurance policy. I called up my guy on the outside and I told him about our plan, and I told him in all likelihood I'll be seeing him next week. But, if he doesn't hear from me 5 minutes before the escape and 20 minutes after, I told him to call up the warden and blow the whistle on the whole thing. So if you all got ideas about getting rid of me, I suggest you make other plans."


	10. Revelation

I step out of my cell, falling into line behind the row of prisoner's obediently making their way out of GenPop and into the yard. I glance over the fluorescent yellow railings to see the C.O's beneath us herding everyone out through the doors like cattle. I spot T-Bag, stepping out to join the formation, before a C.O shakes his head, ushering him back into his cell. I am confused as I descend the stairs, everyone is let out for yard time simultaneously, the only exception being prisoner's in ad-seg. I glance into T-Bag's cell as I file past, and I meet his eyes. I shoot him a questioning look as I march slowly along, and he shrugs, unable to explain his sudden exclusion. I frown and direct my eyes forward. My immediate suspicion is that it has something to do with the escape, but from his confusion and the fact he's the only member of our little shawshank gang to get singled out I start to doubt it.

As I walk out onto the grassy pitch, I hesitate, stepping to the side and glancing back at the prison. I decide to wait. I decide that whatever resulted in T-Bag's segregation could not be good, for him or for the group, and that my curiosity and anxiety have to be sated.

"Hey," I hear a deep voice calling me as I lean against the wire mesh fence next to the door, and I turn my head to see Abruzzi approaching, "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for T-Bag. Do you know what happened? Why they're holding him back?" Immediately Abruzzi glances down to his feet, and I realise he knows something, "Has it got anything to do with the escape?"

"It ain't important." Abruzzi tells me, but there's a hint of guilt in his voice and my heart plummets.

"What's happened?" I growl, in an almost threatening manner.

"Let's just say I took care of our little problem," he sighs with a shrug.

"What have you done?!" I hiss, stepping closer to him. The man is twice my size, with labyrinthian connections throughout the prison. But I do not care, not with this sick feeling in my gut, "There's no need to hurt T-Bag, I said I'd opt out if you needed someone to."

"He's not getting hurt," Abruzzi says with a roll of his eyes, as if it is out of character for him to organise a shanking, "and what the hell were you playing at trying to sit this out? You need this more than any of us, once I'm over that wall how long do you think you're going to last in here by yourself?"

"I don't care, you ever think that maybe I don't want to last?" I spit, watching his face crumble. I inhale sharply, turning back to the prison, seeing the door open, "What did you do?"

T-Bag appears through the door, and from this distance I cannot see his face, "Let's just say there ain't nobody on the other side of that wall to pick up his calls anymore." He murmurs, before turning on his heel and walking briskly away. I watch as T-Bag approaches the wire mesh fence, and then I see it. His red eyes, the skin on his cheeks stained with tears, he has been crying.

The gate swings open, he steps out onto the grass and I rush forward, "T-Bag," I cry out as he turns to face me, wiping his hand on his sodden cheek, "What happened?"

"Mind your own business," T-bag spits out, pushing roughly past me, his shoulders striking against mine. I stagger backwards, but grit my teeth, walking purposefully after him.

"T-" I start shouting, and he abruptly stops in his stride, turning swiftly around. His face was painted with hatred.

"What do you want, Ray? You want to be my friend? You want to act like you don't see me as the same disposable parasite that the rest of them see? Or are you just lookin' for another sucker to pick up after you?" His words catch me off guard and I part my lips, rapidly searching for some way to reply to him. He sneers, shaking his head, and I feel myself soften.

"I just wanted to see if you're okay." I admit, and the voice that travels past my lips is my own. I hear it, and it rings in my ears, the softness, the gentle lilt of my tone, my sincerity betraying my identity. I watch as T-Bag's brow furrows, and I feel heat travel up my neck to my face. The hatred is gone from his face and it is replaced with confusion, with intrigue. He reaches forward and cups the side of my face, the palm of his hand nestled on my cheek, his thumb running along the ridge of my cheekbone, before brushing against my lower lip.

I inhale sharply and pull his hand away, taking a step back, my panic evident. He grins, broad and sincere, and shakes his head, "I'll be okay, Ray-na," he says gently, but all I can hear is malice, "I'll be perfectly okay now."

* * *

><p>There is a chill in the wind, and my gloved hands are clutched around the wooden handle of a rake as I glance up around the yard. Today's P.I assignment is maintenance based, tidy up the hedges that grow along the prison and clean up afterwards. I miss the guard's room, the shelter, the warmth. Even with a beanie hat pulled down over my ears and my jumpsuit zipped up to my chin I can still feel the cold seeping through to my bones.<p>

"Ray-na," I glance up to see T-Bag approaching, struggling with two large bags full of hedge clippings. I feel my muscles tighten slightly, I had not spoken to him since the other day, since my slip up, since I shrugged it off and sprinted in the other direction. My eyes immediately search for Abruzzi, for security, but he's out of sight. "Help me with these, will ya?" T-Bag grunts as he steps over to me.

I nod, and reach out, picking up the bag of leaves in my arms and falling into step beside him. We walk across the grass that separates two storage buildings, one with a large bin and a pile of several leaf filled bags next to it. "Put it there," T-Bag instructs, pointing towards the pile. I nod, walking over to it and throwing the bag gently onto the rest.

I don't have time to react whenever I feel the grip on my upper arm, and I look up in time to see that it is T-Bag who is pulling me, bundling me in through the door of the storage room roughly, sending me stumbling as he pushes me away from the entrance, the door slamming shut behind him with a heavy 'clang'.

"What the hell!?" I spit out as I straighten up, annoyance in my voice and on my face. T-bag stands in front of the door, a grin growing towards each ear.

"We need to talk Ray-na." He tells me.

"And it couldn't have waited?" I growl, rubbing my arm. He doesn't seem to have heard me, instead he steps forward, and flexes his head from side to side, a loud crack erupting from his neck.

"You ain't been completely honest with me, now, have you?" He asks. I grit my teeth, taking a step backwards.

"What are you trying to get at?" I am playing dumb, but I can feel it. He knows, he knew the moment that I let my facade slip, he knew the moment my real voice passed my lips.

"I mean you've been keeping secrets."

"We all have secrets." I whisper, and he laughs, nodding in agreement.

"That we do." He sighs as he reaches around to his back. I hold my breath, and as his hand reappears my fears are confirmed. The shank glistens in the light that streams through the window and I clear my throat uneasily, "Now, Ray-na, you're gonna do what you're told. 'Cause, me and you, we're friends, right?"

"Best fucking pals." I growl sarcastically. I can tell from the jovial grin on his lips he is finding my fear and anger amusing, and I cannot blame him, not when he's got the upper hand.

"Here's what you're gonna do, and if you don't do what you're told I'm gonna stick this thing right in that pretty face of yours," He tells me, holding the shank out towards me, "Would be such a shame, now, wouldn't it? Now, all you gotta do is take off those clothes."

I raise my eyebrows and inhale sharply, not moving, just staring in disbelief. He tightens his grip on the shank and nods, as if encouraging me, as if what he's asking me to do is acceptable. I clear my throat, taking another step backwards, my eyes searching for an escape route.

"You need a little help?" T-Bag groans, rushing over to me suddenly. He grabs me by the collar, pulling the zip of my jumpsuit all the way down. Immediately I panic and struggle, tearing myself out of his grasp, hearing the material rip, staring at him with eyes filled with betrayal.

"Fine," my voice is deep and gutteral, nothing by resentment seeping through. I pull the jumpsuit off my shoulders, shaking it off and stepping out of it, tossing it to one side. I exhale slowly, glancing down at my prison issued white t-shirt and trousers, my eyes travelling back to T-Bag as if hoping for a pardon, as if he would tell me it's okay, it doesn't matter. Instead he licks his lower lip, and I know there is no turning back.

I reach down, grabbing the hem of my t-shirt, and I shut my eyes. With one swift pull it is up over my head and the cool autumn air hits my skin. I can hear T-Bag laugh with delight, and for a second I refuse to open my eyes to see myself exposed, to see the glee on his face. Eventually I summon the courage, and I glance down at myself. My skin is bare with the exception of the tightly bound material around my breasts, masking my true figure and femininity.

"Well ain't you just full of surprises," T-Bag murmurs, his eyes feeding hungrily on my exposed flesh. He steps towards me and I don't move, I don't even flinch.

"Was I that obvious?" I sigh. He shrugs, continuing to study my figure.

"You can only hide your true nature for so long, trust me," He explains, "Eventually something will come along to make you slip."

"So what now?" I ask. T-Bag straightens up and finally returns his gaze to my eyes.

"I'm afraid you ain't gonna be able to walk out of here." He tells me. I don't react, I can't, my worst nightmare has come true and I've resigned myself to whatever it may bring.

"And why's that?" I ask as he steps even closer to me.

"Well, a little lady like you in a big, bad place like this? You ain't in here for no reason." T-Bag explains, "What are you, FBI?"

"Excuse me?!" I laugh, I cannot help it, and T-Bag does not appreciate this. He raises his shank so it rests against the curve of my throat.

"That's why you got so chummy with Abruzzi, that's why you weren't worried about goin' through with the escape. You're only in here until your boss says you can leave. You're lookin' some dirt on the mob, but I doubt that you're likely to keep this little escape of ours a secret, got a duty and all that." T-Bag explains, and the grin on my face grows. I laugh once again, shaking my head.

"I'm no special agent."

"Bullshit."

"I told you why I was here, that hasn't changed just because now you know I have tits," I tell him, he is clearly skeptical, and he inches closer, his face almost touching mine.

"Why ain't you in the women's prison then?" T-Bag asks, and the smile leaves my face, "Why'd you get thrown in here?"

"It was the only choice I had," I mumble under my breath, glancing down at my feet, remembering.

_My hands were shaking from the cold as I raised my keys, the rings rattling gently against each other, and slid them into the lock on the front door. I twisted them, feeling the door give way, and pulled them out, tucking them gently into the school bag which was strung over one shoulder._  
><em><br>My house was small and sat on the corner of a suburban street, it was a relatively quiet neighbourhood, filled with families who spent their times shipping their children from their white picket-fenced home to football practice, or dance lessons, or whatever kids were into these days. Our family had fit perfectly into that design, into that cookie-cutter set up, but only until my sister hit puberty. From then on it had been a slow descent into torment. A mother unable to cope, a father drinking the pain away, and a sister killing herself slowly with any substance she could ingest, snort or inject._  
><em><br>When I came home that day two things greeted me as I stepped over the front door. The first was silence, and the second was the image of a house torn apart. It was a mess, it was chaos, there were turned over tables and drawers, any piece of furniture had been opened, gutted and tossed aside. As I walked down the hall and turned into the living room I saw the cushions ripped open, papers that had once been tucked away neatly in drawers suddenly littered the ground. The TV was still there, the place had been ransacked but nothing seemed to have been stolen._  
><em><br>And then I heard it, the sound of clattering in the kitchen, and immediately I ran through the door to see what had happened._  
><em><br>There, tearing through the drawers of cutlery and the cupboards full of cereal and pasta, was my sister Mai. She was thinner than the last time I'd seen her, and her hair was now a garish platinum blonde that had clearly been a home job. She swung around when she heard my footsteps on the tile, and I got a full view of her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes._  
><em><br>"Mai," I whispered her name and rushed over to her, "What's happened?! Are you okay?"_  
><em><br>"Where does mom keep the keys?" She asked, "She's moved them, they used to be by the door, now they're gone."_  
><em><br>"Mai," I repeat her name, hoping for a more coherent reaction, "Where have you been?"_  
><em><br>My sister had disappeared several months previous when my mother had demanded that she reign in her behaviour, that she cease her late nights, her hungover days, her constant physical and verbal abuse. Not that she'd really been living with us anyway, it had got to the point where we'd have been lucky to see her once a week. Now, seeing her skeletal, manic and unkempt, it's apparent she's gotten worse. It's apparent she's been spiralling._  
><em><br>"Around, just around." She mumbles, and as she pulls open another cupboard door she lets out a loud, frustrated yelp, "the fucking bitch has hid them on me."  
><em>  
><em>"Why do you need the keys, Mai?" I asked cautiously.<em>  
><em><br>"I need the keys because I need the car." She told me, "And I need the car 'cause I've a guy who'll give me a good price for it."_  
><em><br>"Mom has the keys for the car, she's not going to let you sell it." I explained. Mai shrugged._  
><em><br>"She didn't have them on her." She said as she pulled out pots and pans, the metal striking against the work top. I felt a sickening feeling bubbling in my stomach, and I cleared my throat._  
><em><br>"Where's mom?"_  
><em><br>"Stupid bitch cut me off, wouldn't even give me her keys." Mai mumbled. I took a step backwards, and my eyes travel the room._  
><em><br>"MOM!" I called desperately, "Mai where the hell is mom?"_  
><em><br>"She's over there," Mai told me with disinterest as she moved her attention onto the larder. I glanced in the direction that Mai had gestured in, and slowly stepped towards it. As I skirted the table I felt my world crash down around me, I felt the air leave my lungs, I felt my heart stop beating. As I stepped over the first thing I saw was her feet, still in a pair of boots she'd bought the previous week as a treat to herself, as I got closer I could see the blood stains on her skirt and her shirt, blossoming like grotesque flowers that didn't fit in with the pattern. As I stopped beside her I could see the face of my mother, slack and pale wit her eyes shut. _  
><em><br>"Mai what have you done?!" I whispered under my breath, in complete shock, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I turned around to see her reaching for the top shelf, the loose fitting football jersey she was wearing riding up, revealing the sliver of a gun that was tucked into the back of her jeans.  
><em>  
><em>"I'm going to need your help, Ray," Mai sighed, "If I don't find these keys or some cash soon I'm gonna be dead."<em>  
><em><br>My eyes darted to the phone that sat on the kitchen work top, only a few feet away. I nod, but I am not listening, instead I step towards the phone, desperate to get in touch with the police, with an ambulance, with my father, with anyone. _  
><em><br>"We'll find them, I'll help." My voice was shaking, my emotion and fear overcoming every ounce of courage I had. She turned and grinned at me, glad to have an ally. "I think mom keeps some cash over here."_  
><em><br>I moved quickly, too quickly, to the counter with the phone on it. My hands were shaking and it was taking every inch of self control I had not to burst into tears there and then. "Whoa, hold up just a second," Mai called, seeing the the phone sitting a few inches to my right, "don't do anything stupid."_  
><em><br>"I'm not, I promise you." I spat out desperately, turning to look at her. By now she had the gun drawn, her hands shaking – probably from withdrawal – and the barrel was pointed right at me, "I'm just having a look."_  
><em><br>"You wouldn't do me like that, right?" Mai asked, and it was then I could see she was crying herself, her cheeks slick with tears, "I mean, baby sis, we've been through so much shit – you wouldn't do that."  
><em>  
><em>"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, as I raised my hands. "I'm just trying to help."<em>  
><em><br>"BULLSHIT!" She cried, letting out a choked sob, "I can't trust you, I can't trust anyone."_  
><em><br>"Mai, we can fix this." I told her with a surprisingly steady voice. I watched as my sister shut her eyes, inhaling deeply, before opening them again and nodding. _  
><em><br>"Open that drawer, and if you move one inch towards that phone I'll shoot you, I swear to god Ray, don't make me do that." She threatened, and I nodded, ignoring the tears that started to roll down my face. I reached out, pulling the drawer open, greeted by a variety of tapes, scissors and tacks. I cleared my throat, and shook my head, signalling there was no sign of the keys._  
><em><br>Suddenly there was a rattle, and then a creak, and both our heads snapped in the direction of the hallway. A loud slam echoed through the house, and the house seemed to shake. It was my father, my father had come home from work. I could see Mai's eyes, shining in the light, moving to point the gun in the direction of the doorway.  
><em>  
><em>"DAD!" I screamed immediately without thinking, without even considering what might happen, "RUN!"<em>  
><em><br>Suddenly there was a loud bang, louder than I had expected. It was followed by a dull thud, and it took a few seconds to realise that it was me, that it was my knee's that had given out, that it was my abdomen that had exploded with pain, that it was my metallic smelling blood pulsing from an open wound._  
><em><br>It's amazing how quickly you can pass out when you're in that much pain._

I cannot look T-Bag in the eye as I wipe the evidence of emotion off my face, exposed in more ways than one, "My sister's in the Bellevue," I tell him, "I can't go there, I'll be killed. And I can't go out of state because of her appeals," I let out a tearful laugh, glancing over to meet his eye,"And I refuse to spend the rest of my life in ad seg, with rape victims and pedophiles, so that's how I got landed here. With you. I'm no special agent, and I ain't a rat, or a cop. I'm just trapped."

T-Bag's composure falters, and he clears his throat, the hand that's holding the shank lowers as his eyes travel my body, stopping at the thick white raised skin that blossoms next to my navel, "Abruzzi-"

"Abruzzi knows, that's why he's been stuck to me like glue," I wrap my arms around my body, knowing that this is what Abruzzi knew would happen, that this is what he was trying to avoid, "it's also why he's been so desperate to get me out over that wall."

"You can still get out over that wall," T-Bag says, readjusting his posture, straightening up and sliding the shank into the waistband of his trousers, "I ain't got to end you if you're no rat, and anyway," I see him reach into his pocket, pulling out the lining, "we can still have some fun."

Suddenly there is a loud clanging noise, and my eyes dart over to the door. "Open this door immediately!" I hear the familiar voice of Bellick roar. I inhale sharply, fear rising in my throat, and my eyes dart around the room, searching for my clothes.

"There, there, Ray-na, calm down, what do you say?" T-Bag purrs, stepping over to me and reaching out to touch the skin on my cheek. I swipe him away, staring up at him with a face flooded with panic.

"If they find out you know, I'm out of here," I spit.

"Put your clothes on," T-Bag murmur's dismissively. I shoot him a glare, reaching out and grabbing my shirt, hearing the loud clang of the C.O outside as he struggles against the door. It is then I notice the manure stacked against it, preventing their entry.

I stare down at the t-shirt and I feel my stomach lurch, "You've ripped it," I whisper, "T, you've ripped my fucking clothes!"

"So?"

"So don't you think they'll figure out something's wrong when my clothes are torn up?!" I cry. Another clang, I hear the sound of linen moving on concrete, "Don't you think they'll figure out that maybe, having locked me in a room and torn my clothes, you just might have figured out I am not a man?!"

"You're just lookin' for an excuse..."

"An excuse for what? To not tug on your pocket?! Don't you think I'd be glad to do that now – at least I'd be safe, at least I'd be alive, instead of in some god damned hole in a ground," I am becoming irate, the bag of manure shifts again.

"Don't be over-dramatic," T-Bag says with a roll of his eyes.

"I'm not, they're going to send me to Bellevue, I can't stay here now." I murmur, and with a crash the bag gives way, turning over and spilling across the floor, filling the room with stink. I see Bellick, red faced and out of breath, look over the scene. I see his eyes widen as he notices the torn material in my hand, my chest covered by tight linen, T-Bag standing in front of me with a face now filled with realisation and regret.

"Get away from her!" Bellick cries in a panic.

"T," I whisper quietly, my eyes shining with fear, "You've killed me."

Suddenly Bellick pulls T-Bag back, pushing him across the room, trying to create as much distance between him and me as he physically can. I watch as T-Bag stagger's back, his face still blank, still processing what I have told him. Bellick is whispering something to me, but I'm not listening. I feel something heavy and warm settle over my shoulders, and I know it is his uniform jacket.

There are rushed footsteps, and more C.O's arrive through the door, immediately making their way over to T-Bag, pulling his arms behind his back and cuffing his wrists together. His eyes have not left mine, and he still remains expressionless as he's slowly escorted to the door of the storage room.

"Ray," He says quietly, before he rounds the corner, before our eyes break contact, "I am sorry."


	11. Guilty By Association

"How did this happen?" The Warden's voice is stern, but his eyes give away his disappointment and concern. I let out a sigh, glancing up at Bellick who stands to the right of my seat. I am still wearing his jacket.

"He's smart, he figured it out," I mumble, shrugging slightly, "I suppose it was only a matter of time."

"Did he hurt you?" I hear Bellick ask and I shake my head swiftly.

"He didn't touch me," I murmur, directing my eyes down to my lap where my fingers are laced tightly round each other. I owe the man nothing, but I see no benefit of throwing him to the dogs when I'm leaving, I see nothing the prison could do to him that Abruzzi wouldn't match.

"Are you sure?" Warden Pope asks, and I raise my eyebrows. As if that's something I would forget.

"I haven't a scratch on me." I point out. The Warden reluctantly nods, towards Bellick, a signal to leave, and I see him retreat out of the office from the corner of my eye.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Pope asks, and I shake my head, gritting my teeth.

"You can't send me there." I hiss.

"I don't have a choice, do you have any idea what the men will do to you once the word spreads?" The warden counters. I feel fear climb up my throat, but not at his threat.

"Do you have any idea what those women will do to me?" I spit out, panicked, "I'll be dead within an hour."

"They can keep you safer there than I can here." He tries to reassure me, but I shake my head emphatically, leaning forward.

"No, no they can't. You can keep me safe here, I can keep myself safe here. I have friends here." I insist.

"No one has friends in Fox River," he corrects me. I can feel angry tears beginning to stain my eyes and I blink them back hurriedly.

"You need to know that if you sign that transfer paper, you're signing my death warrant," I insist, I see the Warden scowl, knowing that I am right, but unable to compromise, "People in Bellevue want me dead, but the inmates here... they just _want_ me."

"My hands are tied, Ray." He sighs, "I made an agreement with the governor on this, if you were in any danger here then they wanted you out."

"I was always in danger here," I admit with a tearful laugh, "but even now, even with everyone knowing who I am, it's less danger than I'll be in over in Bellevue."

"I know," He glances down at the document in front of him on his desk, letting out an exasperated sigh, "I'm sorry," he mumbles as he puts his pen to paper and signs his name on the dotted line. He looks back up at me, sympathy shining in his eyes, "I have to hand you over to them, but Ray, if anyone in that prison touches a hair on your head..."

I let out another choked laugh, and lean back in the chair, wiping the panicked, salty tears off my cheeks, shaking my head, "By then it might be too late."

* * *

><p>T-Bag could not catch a breath, as each blow rained down on his stomach he felt his diaphragm spasm, he felt his muscles contract, and the fact that his hands were bound and being held high above his head was not helping his lungs work. He had been jumped and hauled roughly into a PI work room. How he hadn't seen it coming he didn't know, but now his hands were taped together and two men were beating the living crap out of him.<p>

"Hey, that's enough," a voice echoed across the room as the men finally refrained. T-Bag could taste blood, and could barely keep his eyes open as he watched a blue shirted figure walk towards him. From his voice he knew it was John, he knew this was Abruzzi's plan to get back at him – for jeopardising his escape, for outing Ray, for everything, "Leave us alone."

"You sure?"

"Get out of here," Abruzzi confirmed. T-bag was thrown on top of the work table that was sitting behind him, as the men obediently did as they were told and silently filed out of the room. T-Bag hadn't felt fear like this in a long time, and he rolled over, groaning in pain, seeing Abruzzi slowly approach him.

"You don't have to do this," T-bag begged, all pride forgotten. He watched as Abruzzi slowly lifted his sleeve, revealing a shank – made from one half of a pair of scissors – tucked underneath the wrist band of his watch. T-Bag felt his stomach lurch with panic, "You don't have to do this, you don't have to this," he continued to repeat, his voice growing more faint and desperate as Abruzzi leant forward, grabbing T-Bag by the scruff of his jumpsuit and pulling him forward, the point of the shank pressing against the curve of his neck.

"You brought it on yourself," Abruzzi snarled back, "I'm just an emissary for all the pain and suffering you've caused, all the families you ruin, all the kids -"

"What about Jimmy?" T-Bag quickly interjected, his eyes shining, his voice desperate. Abruzzi hesitated, feeling the guilt from the job he had ordered weigh on him.

It hadn't been intentional, he hadn't meant anyone to get hurt – just keep T-Bags guy on the outside in a van for a few days until they had all broken out. No one was supposed to get hurt. The guy wasn't supposed to be paranoid, the guy wasn't supposed to have a gun, and the guy definitely wasn't supposed to use his five year old son as a human shield, "he had nothing to do with this, you didn't need to kill him!" T-Bag's face crumpled with emotion, "and what about his beautiful son, his whole life ahead of him, you didn't need to kill a child. After all that I've done maybe I do deserve to die, maybe I do. But you are no better than me!"

Abruzzi pulled T-Bag upright, shaking him roughly, feeling anger spread through every inch of his body, "What about _Ray_?" Abruzzi gritted his teeth, and he watched T-Bag's expression soften, "I was going to get her out, I was going to protect her, she was the only one of us who deserved to be on the other side of that wall. And_ you_, you sold her out."

"I didn't know-" T-Bag started, searching for an excuse.

"No. You didn't care." Abruzzi corrected him, "The difference between us is that I can be better, if I want. God has given me the chance to choose."

T-Bag's brow furrowed, confused, "What?" He asked, letting out a nervous laugh.

"And maybe I should give you a chance as well."

T-Bag's eyes widened, his face filling with hope, "Yeah, you should, anything, anything, please!"

Abruzzi leant forward, placing his lips close to T-Bag's ear and said simply, "Back out." He pulled back, raising the shank in his hand, placing it down on T-Bag's cheek, the point dangerously close to his eye.

"Of the escape?"

"Or die."

"I wouldn't know how..." T-Bag pulled back, letting out a laugh, "I wouldn't make it out there anyway, not with my proclivities."

"I want you to give me your word." Abruzzi demanded, "You hear me, I want you to give me your word!" He screamed, shaking T-Bag violently.

"You got it John, come on you, got it!"

"Swear."

"I'M OUT, I SWEAR!" T-Bag cried, "I swear to God!" He looked up at the point of the shank raised above his head, "I swear to god," he whispered again. Suddenly, he felt himself being pulled in, embraced, John's arm wrapped around the back of his head, holding him against his chest. He felt himself shaking, frightened sobs escaping his throat.

"Alright!" Abruzzi yelled, "I have forgiven you, I have forgiven you." He gently pushed T-Bag back on the table, watching him curl up into a crying ball. He glanced down, tucking the shank back into the wristband of his watch, tugging his sleeve down, "You just have to pray the lord jesus christ will do the same."

He turned to leave, and as he did T-Bag straightened up, a gleaming piece of metal clinched between his teeth. T-bag reached up to his mouth, pulling the small, thin razor-blade from his lips. He had been around the prison long enough to know that having a blade on you, either hidden in the waistband of your trousers of in the lining of your jumpsuit, was a necessity.

"Hey John," he called, "you know actually, about Jesus," he started as Abruzzi turned around to face him again. T-Bag gripped the blade between his fingertips and swung his arms, the sharp edge of the metal slicing through the thin skin on Abruzzi's neck, blood spraying across the room, splattering against the windows. T-Bag watched as Abruzzi fell onto the floor, his hand searching for the gaping wound on his throat, trying to stop the blood seeping out. "Say hi to him for me, will ya?" T-Bag murmured as he cut himself free from the tape, stepping over Abruzzi's gasping body as he made his way to the door. 

* * *

><p>"This is GenPop," the gravelly voice of the Correctional Officer cuts through the air as he escorts me through the thick metal door leading to a long corridor filled with cells. Bellevue is modern, it is state of the art, it is all automized and clinical. A few woman, hunch over metal tables attached to the floor in the centre of the cell block, glancing up from their card games as they realise that a new inmate has arrived. As their eyes sweep over my short bristled hair and hollow frame their interest dissipates and they return their attention to the hands they'd been dealt.<p>

"You're down here in 42." The C.O informs me as I follow him down the aisle. He stands to the side so I can step into the small cramped room fitted with a pair of bunk beds. On the top bunk lies a woman with a grey hoody pulled up over her head covering ratty brown hair, a leg hanging freely off the side. She glances up and meets my eyes, giving me a curt nod.

"This is Richards, Richards this is Nakamura." The C.O. informs me. I nod in return to the woman, before stepping over to the bottom bunk and placing the small amount of belongings they've provided me with – bed sheets and a standard issue prison uniform – on the mattress. The Correctional Officer disappears from sight and I step backwards, glancing up at Richards.

"You can call me Ray," I say simply. She has a book perched in her hand, and her eyes glance up over the edge of it as I speak. They are slightly bloodshot, and I'm not sure if it's because she's been crying or because she is stoned.

"Alright, suppose that'd be simpler seeing as we already have a Nakamura floating around here somewhere." She tells me casually. I swallow a lump of fear that has been growing in my throat.

"Where is she?" I ask. I watch as a smile rises to Richards' face.

"She's in adseg," She tells me, a tone of enthusiasm to her voice, "You two know each other?"

"Something like that." I whisper, and duck into my bunk out of sight. 

* * *

><p>I am woken by stars bursting in front of my eyes. At first I think I am dreaming, but as my eyes crack open the stars continue to burst, lights popping in the darkness of my cell. I blink, and they remain. And then I see a face past them, bathed in the darkness I can make out the long dangling tendrils of brown hair above my face.<p>

It is then I realise I cannot breathe.

I gasp as the pressure around my throat lets itself be known, and my body instinctively convulses beneath the scrawny woman that is attempting to pin it down. Her hands are curled around my throat and her face is flushed with the effort she is putting in. She is tiny, but she is strong enough to stop my breath. I choke, I splutter, and my hands wrestle themselves out from beneath the blanket.

I tear at her hands, but her grip is secure and my arms are weak as my lungs cry out in agony. I see her eyes, her bloodshot eyes filled with determination, staring down at me. I grit my teeth and with my last ounce of effort my hand shoots up, my fingers clawed and pointed, and my nail digs into the slimy surface of her sclera.

The sounds that shakes the room is that of a wounded animal, and she topples off me, her hands flying to cover her eyes as she hits the floor. I suck in a lung full of air, my neck aching, my head swimming. I repeat, choking this time as my throat adjusts to air flow.

I roll off the bed, opening my mouth to cry for a guard but all that comes out of my throat are choked gasps. Richards' is squealing in the corner, and I can see there is blood on her hands. I cry out again but the volume and quality of my voice has been damaged, and all I can manage is a rasping whisper for help.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Richards is crying. Her hands shake as she pulls them away from her face, her good eye still able to view the aftermath of what has happened. I pull myself towards the door, my legs weak from oxygen deprivation, and curl my fingers into a fist, banging on it desperately. I glance over my shoulder as I hear the cell block waking up, shouts of complaint, the sound of the lights being switched on.

The light in our cell springs to life and illuminates Richards' face. She pulls herself to her feet, cautiously approaching the mirror which hangs above our sink and inspects the damage I have done. Her face contorts as she sees the swollen eyelid with blood and fluid seeping from it. She opens her mouth to scream, but it is silenced by anger as her jaw clenches, her hands curling into fists. She turns to look at me with her gaping eye, and I let out another pathetic cry for help as I hear footsteps in the hallway.

"LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO MY FACE!" Richards' screams, running towards me. As I hear keys jingling outside Richards' grabs me by the side of my head, screaming with rage, and before I can even try to cry out in protest, in fear, the back of my skull crashes into the hard, thick metal of the cell door and everything is black.


	12. Out Cold

Authors note: I'm fully aware of how unrealistic this scenario is, it's all for the sake of moving the plot along - just roll with it.

* * *

><p>"This is entirely unacceptable." I hear a distant and familiar voice as I feel consciousness begin to wash over me once more. I turn my head, orienting to the sound, but pain blisters through my skull and I whimper softly, regretting my decision. "She hadn't even been there for 24 hours!"<p>

"Mai Nakamura was in adseg for trafficking, they assumed she'd be safe."

"Hello, how are you feeling?" This voice is much closer, and my eyes crack open, the light burning my retina's as I see a fuzzy outline of a person next to me.

"What's going on?" I murmur, and my voice audibly aches.

"You're in the infirmary, we've had to keep you here to monitor your head injury,"

"How long have I been out?" I whisper, as if less sound would equal less pain.

"About four days." The voice is female, it is gentle, it is understanding. I open my eyes further, the room coming into focus. I can see windows lining the wall opposite me along with a man who is red in the face with anger.

"Pope?" I cough, frowning with confusion. The man turns as he hears me say his name, and I feel an immediate relief as he rushes to the door.

"Ray, you're awake!" He cries as he comes to my side.

"What are you doing here?" I murmur. His face drops and guilt floods his eyes.

"We had you transferred this morning. You were right, you weren't safe there." I feel a strange wave of hope wash over me, and with cautious optimism I open my mouth to ask another question.

"Where am I?"

"Fox River." He reassures me and I feel a smile uncontrollably spread across my face, reaching my eyes, making them fill with tears.

"Thank you," I mouth, unable to let the sound escape my lips without my voice crumbling.

"You were attacked," He starts, explaining what he assumes I have missed. I shake my head gently.

"I remember."

"No," He replies firmly, "you don't."

"Richards." I say softly, not understanding, "my cellmate."

He nods slowly and solemnly, "A prison orderly was caught attempting to administer a lethal dose of morphine during your second night at Bellevue. Another inmate broke into the infirmary on the third day and attempted to smother you." I feel terror seep through my veins, "It turns out there was a bounty placed on your head. It didn't matter that your sister was locked away in adseg, she'd got to you already."

"I didn't know..." I murmur.

"You have a place here." He reassures me, reaching out and taking my hand into his, "But I can't guarantee it will be much safer. You're exposed now, and unless we keep you locked in the SHU-"

"-No," I interject with desperation in my voice, "Please."

"-unless we lock you away," he continues, keen on making his point, "you will be vulnerable to men who have done horrible things, men who have targeted young woman like yourself. You will not be safe."

"I know my limits." I assure him, my voice creaking with the strain of the past few days. He sighs, scanning my broken body as it lies in the hospital bed, and he releases my hand.

"Get some sleep," He instructs, "We can talk through the details when you've had a rest."

* * *

><p>I stare at myself in the mirror and wince. Having been unconscious for the longer stretch of my attack I had not experienced the blows to my face which blackened my eyes and split my lip open. The reflection in the mirror was black and blue, my left eye socket swollen, ageing bruises along my hairline turning yellow.<p>

"Are you ready?" I turn to see Bellick standing behind me, a box in his arms which he offers to me. Inside are my old clothes, tailored for men but no longer a purpose built costume. I nod and turn, taking the box into my own hands and letting out a sigh.

I follow Bellick out of the infirmary, walking obediently behind him as we make our way towards general population. It was no easy feat convincing the Warden that this is where I belong, legal papers were drawn up, safety plans were put in place, and when it came to deciding what cell to place me in the whole thing almost fell apart.

"This is a bad idea." Bellick tells me as he unlocks a large, metal gate. I shrug as I step through, the corridors seeming to grow narrower as we get closer to GenPop.

"It's not a good idea." I agree, "But I prefer it to the prospect of no human contact for the next 30 years."

"You're self-destructive." I hear a loud buzzing as the final few gates slide open, the C.O's that we run into are unnaturally quiet, obviously not used to the presence of a vulnerable woman in their midst. "There's no other reason you'd agree to this."

"Maybe," I admit, as we finally step through the barrier out onto the GenPop landing, "Or maybe I just know what's best for me."

I can see Bellick roll his eyes as he leads me down the centre of the block, and it is only then that I notice there are no prisoners around.

"Where is everyone?" I ask.

"In the yard. We figured we should ease you in, no grand entrance." Bellick explains, finally veering to the right towards my new cell, "Set some ground rules with you and your cellie."

It is then that I hear it, in the familiar southern drawl, "If you don't tell me what's going on soon..."

"Theodore!" Bellick calls as I walk up to the cell door, and a silence settles in the air as I stop at the entrance. I glance up and meet T-Bag's eyes, watching as his jaw slackens and his eyebrows rise crinkling the skin of his forehead.

"What do we have here..." He murmurs, as his eyes scan my frame. I exhale slowly and step over the threshold into the small cramped cell where T-Bag and another C.O are stood.

"This is your new cellmate." Bellick starts to explain and I stand awkwardly with my back to the bunks, feeling T-Bag's eyes trained on me, soaking in my image, ensuring I am truly there, "This is a last resort, Theodore, she's only here because your cell is the only one that's free and if you touch her she will be out of here so fast it will make your head spin. We have to have a full visual of your cell at all times, there will be regular checks and she will be tracked so closely you will not be able to get away with anything. Trust me when I say that."

"Don't worry boss," T-Bag murmurs, his eyes still never moving from me, "I can play nice."

"You better." Bellick growls. He lets out another sigh and motions for the other C.O to leave, "Don't mess this up, Bagwell." He warns one final time before walking out of the cell himself.

Time slows down drastically the moment that Bellick's out of sight. I stand holding my breath, my eyes returning to meet T-Bag's as he stands opposite me, staring at me as if I am not real, as if he isn't really quite sure what he is seeing. I inhale sharply and raise my eyebrows, wanting him to go first, wanting him so desperately to say something to break this overwhelming tension.

"What did they do to you?" The voice out of his mouth is so uncharacteristically sincere that it takes me a minute to recognise it as his own. I have to avert my gaze as I feel heat rise over my neck, unsure whether it's from fear or self-consciousness. His hand finds the curve of my face, his thumb running gently over the swollen rise of my cheekbone.

"What I expected them to." I admit as he traces the broken line of my lips. I flinch and instinctively take a step back. He seems surprised momentarily, before he remembers where he is and drops his hand.

"I think it suits you," he tells me with a hint of a laugh to his voice, "gives you character."

"Ain't nobody going to mess with me now." I add, as I bend over to place my box on the floor. I move to straighten up, and as I do I see that T-bag has reached into the pockets of his trousers, pulled out the lining, and is gripping it between his fingers.

"No, they ain't, not if you're with me." I feel myself rolling my eyes before I can even stop, "C'mon Ray-na, you knew full well what you were getting into when you signed up to bunk with me. I can look after you..."

"And you will," I agree, "not because I'm your cell mate, not because I'm going to tug on your pocket – because I'm not going _near_ that – but because you owe me." I can see the skepticism in his face, his jaw tightening.

"Darlin', you ain't got much of a choice here..." He starts, stepping towards me. I feel my back straighten as I refuse to bow to his pressure.

"No, **_you_** have the choice here." I clarify, ensuring my tone is even and forceful, "Your choice is whether I stay or whether I go. You make a move on me, no matter how quick, it will be noticed. Whether your manage to... finish... before the guards are in this cell I don't know – but what I do know is that they will see it, and they will come down on you like a tonne of bricks," I use this opportunity to point up through the bars to where a guard is standing on the first floor landing, staring down intently into the cell, "You could make me tug on that pocket of yours, but I'd be out of this cell before I even get the chance to latch on. You hang a sheet, they'll see. You touch me, they'll see. I wouldn't even have to scream, and they would see." I grit my teeth as I see the rage bubble behind his eyes, "I'd be out of here, stuck in the god damned hold for the rest of my life, and they will come down on you like a tonne of bricks."

I watch as T-Bag considers this, knowing that I'm correct, but also knowing that this means he has to fight the most base compulsions that he is so used to indulging in. "Anyway, wouldn't you rather have me in here than in ad-seg? I thought you liked me." He scowls and take a step backwards, tucking the pocket away, "Good, keep it in your pants."


	13. Unwanted Concern

I glance up from where I am laying on my bunk as I notice a figure at our cell door. By this time the prisoners were all returned to GenPop, most of them rushing by the cell craning their necks, trying their very best to get a glimpse of the new kid.

"Nakamura," it is Warden Pope and I frown, pushing myself up right as he steps inside, briefly acknowledging T-Bag, who is standing shaving at the small mirror fixed to the wall, with a curt nod.

"Yeah?" I ask, hearing some of the inmates on the block begin to line up.

"Your P.I. card is still good," He informs me, and this immediately makes a smile blossom on my face, "I had a discussion with one of the other inmates in here, and he's agreed to keep you on his team. I trust him, he will keep an eye you. He will keep you safe."

"Hey boss," T-Bag chimes, turning to face us as he wipes the shaving cream from the line of his jaw, "I think I'm more than qualified for that job."

"I wouldn't allow this unless I believed he could keep you safe," The Warden informs me, completely ignoring T-Bag's claim. I hear some guards call from outside our cell and the Warden motions towards the door, before stepping through it himself, "get going, you don't want to be late for your first day back."

I slide down from the bunk and follow T-Bag out into the hallway. He sticks to my side like glue, and I watch as men who I'd previously been invisible to turn in shock and awe as I enter their line of sight. Almost immediately there are wolf whistles, followed by disgusting comments streaming from the cells. I hold my breath as I see some men begin to make their way towards me.

Without missing a beat there is an arm around my shoulders, and I turn to see T-Bag with a dark expression on his face, his eyes narrow with malice as he glares at the men approaching us. I instinctively turn to look at the guards who have reached for their belts, hands hovering above their batons as they watch T-Bag keenly. His grip on me is tight, but it is not threatening, and I watch as the men disperse, figuring I am not worth so much trouble.

"Stick by me," T-Bag whispers cautiously in my ear as we reach the line of prisoners, his arm sliding back down to his side as he positions me in front of him in the queue. I slowly release the breath that I was holding and lean back slightly.

"Thank you." I whisper.

* * *

><p>"You've got to be kidding me," these are the first words I hear as I walk through the door of the guards room, which remains gutted and half finished. The rest of the men that I worked with only a few days ago are standing staring at me, no longer recognising the person in front of them.<p>

"Behave yourselves," the guard calls from the door, "I'll be checking on you!" He warns as he slides the large, blue metal door over. I glance around the room and see that most of the guys are in total shock, their eyes wide, their mouths open. Michael is the only one who stands stoically, staring at me, having already been warned by Pope what to expect.

"Ray..." He whispers softly, his eyes searching my face to find the yellowing bruises and broken skin. I try my best to smile.

"A welcome back would be nice..." I murmur.

"Don't tell me y'all didn't know!" T-Bag chimes in as the stunned silence hangs heavy in the air. He lets out a smug laugh, raising his arm to lean on my shoulder.

"Don't touch her." Michael growls. T-Bag lets out a laugh but removes his hand as if he has been burned.

"Sorry pretty, didn't realise you had dibs!"

"Go watch the door," Michael instructs but T-Bag shakes his head.

"You ain't gonna kick me out -"

"Watch the door." Michael repeats. I hear T-Bag exhale slowly, before turning on his heel and sliding the heavy metal door open, disappearing behind it.

"What happened to your face?" I hear Sucre ask.

"Turns out I fight like a girl," I joke, smirking as I say it. No one laughs.

"What are you doing here? The Warden must be out of his mind if he thinks you'll be safe." Michael mumbles and I ball my hands into fists.

"Look, this was up to me. Not him. I begged to be put back in here. You don't get it -" I run my hand over my head, "In Bellvue there were three seperate attempts on my life in the space of four days. This place is safer than you realise."

"Not with him as your cellmate." Michael points out.

"What can I say, I'd rather be stuck with him than locked away with no human contact for the next thirty years. He was the only guy with an empty bunk."

"Yeah, because his last cellie offed himself!" C-Note points out. I shrug.

"It's not your problem," I remind him, "It's no ones problem by mine."

"No." Michael tells me with a shake of his head, stepping over to the edge of the large, linen sheet that disguises the hole we had been digging towards freedom, "It is our problem because we're going to get you out of here. We're going to get you away from him."

"If I remember correctly you had one too many on your crew last time," I point out, and then I scan the room, flickering from familiar face to familiar face, Lincoln, C-Note, Sucre..., "Wait..."

"Ray-" Michael starts, knowing what I'm about to ask.

"Where is he?" I feel my heart start to inch towards my throat.

"Ray he's not here."

"Where is he?!" I cry, taking a step back, "Michael, where's John?"

"He's not here." Michael repeats firmly, "He's in hospital."

"Why?" I spit out as Michael walks towards me, a look of regret on his face.

"We don't know for sure what happened, all we know is someone cut his throat." I feel my stomach drop and I wonder for a second if I will be sick.

"He knew," I whisper softly to Michael, "He knew, he knew about me he knew all along. It's why he was so desperate to get me out."

"Well the least we can do at this point is follow that through." Michael reassures me, but for some reason his words feel empty.

* * *

><p>I linger next to our bunk as the cell door slides shut behind me, watching T-Bag as he walks over to the sink, running the water and splashing some of it on his face. He straightens up, catching my eye in the reflection of the mirror, and grins broadly.<p>

"Take a picture it will last longer." He instructs.

I should really know by this point in my life that I have an anger issue, but this doesn't really cross my mind as I roll my hand into a fist, all sharp nuckles, and throw my body weight behind it as it clashes violently against T-Bag's jaw. He stumbles and falls back against the stainless steel toilet as I raise my hand high to land another blow.

"RAY-NA!" He shouts, mostly from shock. He manages to reach up and grab my wrist, wrenching it painfully backwards as he pushes me to the wall.

"I know!" I yell as my back strikes against the grey brick work. Of course I know, the moment Michael told me John had his throat cut there was only one perpetrator at the forefront of my mind. The hatred between them two was always palpable. T-Bag looks genuinely confused as I relax in his grip, "I know what you did!"

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" He growls, all too aware that the only reasons guards haven't come into our cell is because of the overwhelming noise coming from the prisoners outside.

"John." I spit out his name with the weight of the accusation.

"What?" His face falters and he releases me. I exhale slowly, feeling the rush of blood that had gone straight to my head subside.

"You slit his throat." I tell him, and I watch as he deliberates whether or not to deny this. He narrows his eyes, weighing his options.

"I did." He admits. I am surprised by the honesty, and am unsure of how to respond.

"Why?"

"He killed my cousin." T-Bag explains calmly, but the resentment oozes from each word, "And his son. He might not have pulled the trigger but he said the word, and now they're gone. They were innocent in all this, they were just trying to do right by me."

"I'm sorry," I murmur, knowing his grief is sincere, and T-Bag shakes his head while staring at the floor.

"The man had it comin', I'm only sorry I didn't manage to finish him off."

"Because you've never done something like that." I challenge, highlighting his hypocrisy. And his eyes snap up to meet mine, narrowing with anger.

"I don't care what you think of me - and you might not think I care, or that I give a damn about anyone on this wretched planet," He snarls, "But I look after my own!"

* * *

><p>There is a small clang that rouses me from my uneasy sleep, and I find myself staring up at the grey wall above my bunk. I frown, I had not been sleeping easy, instead I would wake with a start every half hour expecting T-Bag to be standing above me. Punching a serial killer in the face is not a recipe for an easy nights sleep.<p>

There is another clang, and I realise it is coming from the bars on the cell door. I glance up and see Bellick standing there, meeting my eyes and gesturing for me to go over to him. The cell door is open, and he appears to have been waiting for me to get up.

"Nakamura," he whispers sharply, and I groggily glance beneath me at the lower bunk, seeing T-Bag fast asleep, snoring lightly.

"What time is it?" I murmur as quietly as I can as I ease myself out of the bed. I am fully dressed, having not quite been comfortable getting changed in full view of both GenPop and T-Bag.

"Just before 5." I stumble out of the cell.

"What's wrong?" I murmur.

"The Warden wants to see you." He tells me as he starts walking down the landing. I fall into step behind him and scowl.

"Why the hell is he even in work at this time?"

I'm lead to his office, a route I am starting to learn by heart, and it seems strange in the dark without the presence of a secretary. The door opens and light spills out into the waiting room, Warden Pope holding the door ajar to invite me in.

"Ray," he says quietly as I step inside. I look down at my feet and see I didn't think to put shoes on.

"Morning." I mumble as I instinctively take a seat, wiping my eyes. I glance over my shoulder to see that there's a large stick model of the Taj Mahal sitting in the centre of the room.

"What do you think?" The Warden asks and I raise my eyebrows, trying to clear the fog from my mind.

"Of the Taj Mahal?"

"Yes, Michael Schofield's been helping me build it. It's for my wedding anniversary."

"It's beautiful. She'll love it." I reassure him, "Congratulations."

He takes a seat opposite me across his desk, picking up a mug with steam rising from it and takes a quick sip. "So how are you holding up?"

"Fine." I sigh, "A little bit more tense than usual if I'm being perfectly honest, but nothing to complain about."

"That's not what I hear," He mumbles and I feel my face contort with confusion.

"Excuse me?"

"Concerns have been raised about your wellbeing." He informs me and I roll my eyes.

"Of course there are concerns, we all have our concerns. But I've been safe enough so far."

"Theodore Bagwell is not to be trusted." The Warden informs me as if I had not been previously aware of this.

"Really? Because he seems like such a stand up guy." I mutter sarcastically, before narrowing my eyes and once again glance over my shoulders to the Taj Mahal.

"I know you're aware of all this, but -"

"Michael," I growl his name and return my attention to the Warden, "Michael's the one who raised these concerns."

"You know I can't say -"

"Michael hates T-Bag," I inhaled sharply, "And maybe he does have my best interests at heart, but he doesn't know me. I can take care of myself and I can handle T-Bag."

"If I think you're in any danger -"

"Every man in that block is in constant danger, this is prison, there is always risk," I push myself to the edge of my seat, "Your job is risk management. You're managing the risk. I am okay."

I can tell he doesn't believe me, but he also knows how important the little liberty I have left is. He reluctantly nods, "Alright, if you say so," He rises from his seat and makes his way over to the office door, opening it for me, "Bellick will take you round to the showers and sort you out with a clean set of clothes. Saves you washing with all the other prisoners."

"Thank you"

"Ray, please, just look after yourself." The Warden begs and I nod.

"It's what I'm planning to do."

* * *

><p>I appreciate the feeling of being freshly showered, of finally being clean. I think I had begun to smell, but the moment I step beneath the stream of luke warm water it no longer matters. Despite the fact the water pressure leaves a lot to be desired, the fact that every so often a jet of freezing cold water would escape and hit me in the face, the feeling of washing was something I cannot help but relish.<p>

I soap up the short hairs that spring from my scalp, rinsing the bubbles out of my eyes. I scrub the length of my body, over bruised and battered skin and my stomach puckered with scars. My hands are just grateful to finally be clearing the evidence of the past few days from my body.

"Ready to go?" I hear Bellick call from the door. He is impatient because eventually the rest of the prison will have to use these showers, divided up into steady intervals so everyone can be cleansed.

"Just a second!" I call back, shutting my eyes and sticking my face beneath the stream, enjoying the last moment of quiet before I reach out and turn the shower off. I step out into the vast tiled room, one that I had never seen filled with more than myself and a correctional officer.

I reach out to grab the towel that is set up on a large tiled wall separating the showers from the changing area, and bury my face into the rough material. I then run it quickly over my head, before tying it around my body.

"Here's a change of clothes," Bellick tells me, stepping into the room and placing them in front of me. He avoids looking at me as he takes a step back towards the door, "Have to hurry up, GenPop will be waking up in a few minutes."

"Just give me one more second." I murmur as I grab the clothes, pulling them hurriedly onto my still damp body, discarding the towel at my feet.

I step into the hallway as Bellick straightens up and leads me towards the cell block. There is a loud buzzing as the barred door slides open onto the landing, loud enough to ellicit a few groans from prisoners still trying to make the most of the last few minutes of sleep. I am lead to my cell door, which is already laying open, T-Bag pushing the covers off himself.

"Morning," I sigh as I step inside, Bellick disappearing down the block to help with the wakening of the rest of the prisoners.

"I thought you'd left me." T-Bag admits, his voice still thick with sleep. There is a loud buzzing and I feel myself ache slightly for the sleep I've been deprived of.

"COUNT!" A voice cries out. T-Bag and I stumble out of our cell, as the rest of the block joins us, obediently standing on the painted yellow line outside of our cell.

"What had you up at the crack of dawn?" T-Bag asks me.

"Had to have a shower," I explain, "Didn't you notice? Washed my hair and everything."

"No wonder you smell so sweet," I can't help but smirk and shake my head. A C.O I don't recognise is going from person to person, making sure everyone is accounted for. I use this opportunity to scan GenPop, my eyes finally landing on Michael, who is returning my gaze with the same intensity. There is a loud buzzing noise, signalling the end of count, and I see him retreat back into his cell.

"I'll be right back." I tell T-Bag, who shrugs, too sleepy to question what I am doing.

As I make my way across the wide, open floor of GenPop I am grateful for the early hour and the exhausted faces of the prisoners. I make my way up the stairs onto the first floor landing, trying to avoid meeting anyone's gaze until I have reached Michael's cell. I quickly step inside to see Michael perched over the desk in the corner of the room, his face contorted with concentration, bags beneath his eyes. He is wearing only a vest, and I find myself studying the vast tattoo that lines his back, his arms, his entire torso. I clear my throat, drawing attention to myself.

"You sleep at all last night?" I ask him as he turns to meet my eyes. He shrugs, hurriedly pushing the paper out of the way and standing up.

"Some." He tells me with a shrug.

"Liar." I smile, but the expression doesn't last long as I remember why I need to speak to him, "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"What?" Michael seems sincerely confused, and I shrug.

"I had a conversation with Warden Pope this morning." I see a look of guilt begin to wash over Michael's expression, "And really the only logical explanation is that you want rid of me."

"Or that I want you to be safe." Michael suggests.

"You're going to get me sent to adseg."

"At least then you'll be away from T-Bag." I frown and narrow my eyes.

"Why exactly are you so worried about me?" I ask, "I know he's dangerous but... you don't know me. At least not that well. You may have some idea what he's capable of, but you have no idea what I'm capable of. What I can or can't cope with. I can cope with T-Bag, what I can't cope with is being kept in isolation without human contact for 23 hours a day for the next 30 years."

"He could kill you." Michael clarifies.

"He could." I agree, "But maybe he won't. Maybe now, with this escape, he has enough incentive to behave himself."

"I was just trying to protect you."

"That's what the staff here are for." I remind him. I glance momentarily round his cell, with the mountainous scraps of paper piled high next to his desk, the made bed that clearly had not been slept in. He is exhausted, and whatever is keeping him up at night – be it the escape or his brother's impending execution – is clearly taking a toll on him, "Maybe try and look after yourself before you look after me."

"I'll see what I can do." He smiles as he says this, but I don't mirror his expression.

"Whatever's going on, you don't have to go it alone," I reach out and gently rest my hand on his shoulder, hoping maybe a bit of human contact might pull him out of whatever he has gotten himself into. His smile broadens, "You've got a whole team of guys here to help out. Don't take it all on yourself, you're not alone in this."


	14. Friends in High Places

I look around the guard's rec room as I dip my large roller into the bucket of paint that sits by my side. I watch as the rest of the crew continue on with their work, and I realise that the room is almost complete. The day of the escape was fast approaching, and apart from Michael's increasing anxiety and apprehension we seemed to be right on track.

"So what did you need to talk to pretty about this mornin'?" I hear T-Bag ask from beside me. I glance round and he is dragging his brush up and down the wall, leaving a white smear in its wake.

"Just talkin' shop." I murmur as I mimic his movements, the roller gliding over the wall with ease.

"Don't play me for a fool," T-Bag murmurs with a threat in his voice. I watch as his face contorts to match the tone, but all I can see is an insecure boy.

"Fine." I whisper, hushing my voice, "We were talking about you," I see his knuckles turn white as his anger rises up around his collar. I sigh and step closer to him, "You're under no illusions about pretty's opinion of yourself. He's been trying to stir up shit because I'm bunking with you."

I watch as his eyes dart across the room to where Michael is standing, his arm dropping and his body starting to turn while his jaw clenches. I reach out, placing my hand gently on T-Bag's upper arm, but firmly enough for him to return his attention to me.

"I put everything right." I tell him softly, and for a second he seems to be confused. "I'm not going to let them take me out of your cell. I'm not leaving without a fight."

His eyes narrow, "Why?"

"You've done right by me," I explain, "The only reason I'm in one piece is because of your self control and your protection." I smile, and hope he copies me, "You're stuck with me."

There is a loud clang and I immediately drop my hand from T-Bag's arm, taking a step backwards. I see the door open, a C.O. stepping through and surveying the room.

"Time to wrap it up," he instructs.

"We're not done in here." Sucre challenges.

"You look done to me."

"Nah," C-Note interjects, "We still got the carpet to do man."

"No. Bellick is going to bring professionals in to do that. Wants the job done right." I feel my heart drop and I glance over to Michael to see he is wearing a look of horror on his face.

"When's that going to happen?" Charles Westmoreland, an older member of our team chimes from the back of the room. Westmoreland has greying hair that sprouts messily from the top of his head and from just beneath his nose, but he seems to have a kind disposition and Michael clearly included him in the escape for a reason.

"Tomorrow." The C.O. informs us without a second thought. He nods, indicating that we need to finish painting as soon as we can, and leaves, slamming the heavy metal door shut behind him. T-Bag steps forward and angrily throws his brush down into the large bucket of paint.

"We got a real problem on our hands, don't we?" He growls, "Rug monkeys going to come in here, tear up that carpet and that holes going to be smiling up at them."

"We'll have to fill it in." Michael explains, and I let out a laugh.

"We just dug it!"

"All we need is a piece of plywood and a couple of inches of that fast setting concrete on top of it. The carpet guys will never know there's anything beneath it, and the night we break out we'll just smash through with a sledge hammer." He tells us calmly. I fold my arms across my chest and cock my head to one side.

"Do we seriously have time to do that?"

"If we start now. We have a couple of hours to get it done. Let's get onto it!" Michael's enthusiasm and conviction seem contagious, and I shrug as the room bursts into life. Charles Westmoreland slips out the door, and I follow the rest of the men as they pick up the table and remove it from the center of the room. T-Bag bends down and quickly removes the rug from the floor, revealing the gaping hole which has only recently been finished. I wipe my hands down as I see Sucre and C-Note scramble around for some quick drying cement, emptying it into a large, empty bucket to start mixing.

"How long does this stuff take to dry?" Sucre asks.

"One, two hours." C-Note tells him.

Suddenly the door is pulled open and Westmoreland appears, a panicked expression on his face, "Fire on the line!" He announces, and immediately we rush to undo what we have just done. We pull the rug back over the whole, placing peace of board above it so the rug doesn't sag into the open ground. Sucre and C-note hastily push the bucket of quick drying cement in to the corner, hurriedly picking up paintbrushes to resume working.

The door opens again just as the roller is returned to my hand, and I see Bellick strut in, an idiotic grin playing on his lips.

"This place is sweet!" He exclaims, "You girls have done such a good job, I thought you could use an extra pair of hands on the crew." Bellick lets out a whistle and a young man steps in through, and the familiarity makes my stomach lurch. He has the sleep of his t-shirt rolled up to reveal his only tattoo etched into his bicep, his hair is sticking up haphazardly with whatever product he slathers into it.

"S'up." He says simply, and the voice stires my memory.  
><em><br>"You think you're gettin' up in this you got another thing coming, you homo!" _

I instinctively turn to T-Bag whose jaw clenches. This is the man that he had tried so hard to victimise, that he'd chased after once his cellmate Cherrie had hung himself. "Tweener." He growls under his breath, stating the nickname that he had granted the young man.

Bellick nods curtly, a smug smile on his face as if he knows something that all of us have failed to pick up on, "Play nice, ladies." He calls, stepping out and shutting the large metal door behind him. Tweener steps forward, picking up a bucket of paint and setting it on the table in the centre of the room. I can feel T-Bag's body tense next to mine, from anger or attraction I am not sure.

"Hey, man, look at my brush, it's all sticking together." C-Note calls across the room, theatrically raising his brush in the air in front of himself. Michael steps forward, the look of intensity in his eyes matching only T-Bag's.

"Someone needs to go clean them out." Michael confirms. Tweener glances around, seeing all eyes on him, and a look of offence quickly bubbles onto his features.

"According to rank," T-Bag steps forward, pointing his roller towards Tweener, "That would be you." There is a loud clang as T-Bag drops his roller in front of him.

"C'mon man!" Tweener moans, "Ain't no way I'm lower down in the pecking order than the bitch you got tugging on that pocket."

My face falls and rage seeps through my body as I step forward, my fingers curving into the palm of my hands so my nails bite into my skin. T-Bag reaches out and grabs me across my shoulders, stopping me short.

"She don't tug on no man's pocket." T-Bag corrects, "In this situation, little man, you're the bitch. And if you don't want me to beat your ass into the ground, you'll go clean off those brushes like the good little milk chicken you are."

"What I got to do?" Tweener asks reluctantly, quickly realising he is outranked.

"There's a hose out by the shed in the yard, you can use that." Michael instructs and the rest of the crew step forward, tossing their used brushes into the bucket in front of Tweener. I step forward, throwing the last brush into the bucket forcefully enough for paint to splash back onto his face.

"Make sure they're sparkling," I spit out, "bitch."

He clears his throat and lowers his eyes, grabbing the bucket and retreating out of the room to do the job. I exhale slowly and feel a hand settle on the flat of my back between my shoulder blades, an oddly comforting gesture. I turn my head to see T-Bag standing next to me, his eyes searching mine to ensure I am okay.

"I'm alright," I murmur, shrugging him off and returning to work. We had given Tweener enough paint soaked utensils to keep him occupied for the rest of the day, giving us plenty of time to mix up the cement and lay down a plywood board.

"How close are we?" Michael asks as we kneel down next to the hole, covered in dust from the cement.

"We're good to go, baby!" C-note announces, before Charles Westmoreland appears with a panicked expression on his face.

"Got another badge!" He announces.

"Is this happy hour?" Michael mutters as we all rise to our feet, hurriedly assembling the room once again.

Geary appears within a few seconds, glancing around the room and finding Michael, "Schofield, Pope wants to see you." He tells him, before directing his attention to the rest of us "Rest of you round up, you're done here."

"C.O. Patterson said we had till the end of the day," C-Note explains.

"And I say you're done!" Geary replied defensively, "There's a couple of hours work I want done in the yard before sundown." We all stand still, our eyes darting from one to the other, unwilling to move, "Come on, lets go!"

We reluctantly put down our utensils, anxiety mounting in our throats as we make our way towards the door.

* * *

><p>The yard is bitterly cold as we stand along the side of the prison walls, canisters of weed killer in our hands. A woollen beanie is pulled down low on my head, my shoulders hunched beneath the large, thick jacket that is shielding me from the cold the best it can. I sniff, trying curl my stiff fingers around the nozzle I'm directing at the small wisps of green weed cropping up beneath the thick, grey bricks.<p>

"Nice hat," I hear T-Bag's southern drawl cut through my thoughts and I glance up to see him shuffling up beside me, "Always said you looked good in hats."

"Thanks," I sigh, a smile filtering into my voice, "I'm wearing it just for you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, has nothing to do with the fact I'm freezing my ass off out here." The sarcasm cuts him down and he frowns, just as C-Note arrives by our side, throwing his canister down in anger.

"Pretty's gone and got himself thrown in the SHU!" He tells us.

"Wait, what?" I hiss.

"The hits just keep coming." He growls.

"The last thing we wanna do is panic, fellas" Charles Westmoreland reassures us in hushed tones.

"Oh, it's panic time Old head," T-bag interrupts, "We got an unfinished hole in that room over there, Scofield's supposed to fill up tonight, come tomorrow, 8 am, they're gonna rip up that carpet, our game is over!" I feel my heart rate increasing as I glance around our small group.

"Unless someone else fills it up," I suggest, immediately my eyes latching onto Sucre. He meets my gaze and he quickly shakes his head, "Look, you're the only one here with a toilet to the outside world. You're the only chance we have."

"You're saying I go out there by myself tonight?" Sucre growls through clenched teeth.

"That's exactly what we're saying."

"Are you kidding? That's impossible!"

C-Note steps forward, the seriousness of the situation evident on his face, "Look, I don't want to hear 'impossible' from you right now, I got people waiting on me, people I'm going to lose unless you man up and get some cahonies, comprende?"

"That's easy for you to say, it ain't your ass on the line!" Sucre insists. I step closer to him and cautiously place a hand on his shoulder, attempting to ground him. His eyes dart back to my face and my expression softens.

"It's all our asses," I remind him, "If nothing gets done tonight we'll all end up with another dime on our bids, you're the only one who can do something about it. You're the only one who can help us."

I watch him suck a deep breath into his lungs, "Yeah, so maybe I can get out of my cell, and maybe I can get into the guards room, but even if I do, and I fill that hole, I'll still be in that room! I'll be sealed in, there's no way out!"

"Scofield must have had a way." C-note murmurs

"He did." Westmoreland interjects, "The grate."

"Oh, that's right, the one out there in the middle of the open?" Sucre cries, panic once again overwhelming him.

"Yeah, so you better lace up amigo, 'cause you're going to have to make a run for it!" C-note growls.

"That's ten years on my bid if I get caught."

"Then you better figure out a way **NOT** to get caught." T-bag suggests under his breath just as the guards voice breaks out out over the yard, telling us that P.I is over.

* * *

><p>I sit cross legged on my bunk, my fingers tracing across the pages of the book that is open on my lap. It is tier time, meaning the cells are open and the prisoners can come and go as they please. Understandably I avoid this, trying to spend as little unsupervised time with my peers as I can possibly manage.<p>

"Hey," the silence of my cell disappears and I glance up to see Sucre standing at my cell door.

"Hi…" I say cautiously, slowly closing my book over. There is a look of apprehension on his face which makes me uncomfortable, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He sighs, but from the way his gaze shifts from the walkway to myself does nothing to ease my concerns. I narrow my eyes.

"Are you looking for T?" I ask, pushing myself to the edge of the bed. I wasn't exactly the inmate people would come to when they needed something, my increased supervision, the threat of violence from T-Bag and general vulnerability meant that most people chose to avoid me if they could.

"No, actually, I need to talk to you." Sucre clarifies as he steps into the cell, slotting himself neatly behind the bars.

"Okay…" I say cautiously, "What is it?"

"I… I need something." He murmurs, running a hand over his shaved head. I cock my head to one side, narrowing my eyes with suspicion.

"What do you need?" I ask, my words coming out slowly and purposefully. He exhales, glancing once more over his shoulder before stepping closer to me, crouching down so there's less of a distance for the noise to travel.

"Underwear." He tells me simply, "I need your panties."

"Wait, you need _what?_!" I hiss, rising to my feet, watching as he straightens up. The expression on his face tells me that he knows he should not be asking this.

"Your panties, los bragas!" He repeats, the embarrassment obvious in his expression and the heat climbing up his face.

"Sorry, let me rephrase the question. _Why_?!" I growl.

"For tonight." He murmurs under his breath, "In case I get caught."

"I don't see how my panties are going to help you there!" I watch as frustration overcomes him and he clenches his jaw, stepping close enough that his mouth is next to my ear.

"If I get caught I'm gonna need an excuse other than I'm trying to jump the wall. Best one I can think of is my old lady is trying to sling some stuff to me over the fence… and panties ain't gonna get me into a whole lot of trouble. They're not exactly contraband." I listen carefully and narrow my eyes with confusion.

"The guards would believe that?" I ask, and he nods, "That a prisoner would risk adding 10 years to his sentence just to get ahold of some panties."

"People have done far weirder things in here." He clarifies, looking at my expectantly, "So?"

I sigh, and shake me head, "Sorry, no can do."

"Why not? Come on, it'll save my ass!"

"Hey, I'd love to help! But…" I shrug.

"But what?"

I roll my eyes and hook my thumb into the waistband of my trousers, tugging them down to reveal the pair of typical prison issued boxers I wear on a daily basis, "I dunno what girls you're hanging round with on the outside, but if I was gonna sling my panties over a prison wall to my man, they sure as hell ain't gonna be these."

"What's this?" Sucre spins round in time to see T-Bag standing in the open door of our cell, his face dark with anger. I can see T-Bag's eyes travelling down to my hips, seeing my exposed skin and boxers, "You getting a private showing?"

I hastily pull my trousers back up, feeling heat rise to my cheeks as Sucre desperately tries to find the words to explain the situation, "I, uh, no… I just-"

"He's looking for some panties." I tell him bluntly, and Sucre exhales slowly, clearly mortified, "He needs an excuse for being out in the yard if he gets caught." T-Bag narrows his eyes, scanning my face for deception, his need for possession being quickly outweighed by his need for freedom.

"You ain't gonna find any here." T-Bag tells him with a low voice. Sucre frowns, understanding it is a warning more than anything.

"Could I talk to you outside for a minute?" Sucre asks T-Bag quietly, and I watch as T reluctantly steps backwards, the pair of them retreating out of my line of vision.

"Ray-na, you awake?" A voice seeps through to my consciousness as I roll over in bed, wiping my eyes and letting out a small, clearly annoyed groan, "Ray-na" It is T-Bags voice. He had returned from the conversation with Sucre uncharacteristically quiet and despondent, barely speaking two words to me the entire afternoon. I had curled up in a ball on the top bunk, opting to catch up on some sleep whenever I get the chance. I do not sleep easy.

"What is it T?" I whisper, aware that noise travels easily when the only doors available are metal bars.

"I need to ask you somethin'." He tells me plainly. I pull myself to the side of the bed, glancing down to the lower bunk where T-Bag is sat, propped up against the wall.

"Shoot," I murmur, rolling onto my back again.

"Sucre…" He starts, clearly finding it difficult to find the words, "He's askin' something of me and… " I hear him clear his throat, "it ain't pleasant."

"Then don't do it." I murmur, my voice still clouded with sleep.

"I ain't got much of a choice." I inhale deeply, my eyes opening as I try to shake my drowsiness off, enough that I can follow T-Bag's train of thought.

"He ain't asking you to do the running, is he?" I ask, pulling myself back over to the edge of the bunk, dangling my head over the side to get a look at T, "he's the one stuck with that cell, no way around that."

"Not the running, just some lifting." He clarifies.

"Lifting what exactly?"

I watch as he stretches his neck, grimacing as it cracks, "Bloomers." He raises his eyes to meet mine and I frown, trying to understand what he means. It slowly seeps in, making its way through my sleep addled brain. Fox River may be a men's prison, but every so often you would come across a man who didn't consider themselves one, who would take small icons of a gender and hold onto them to remind themselves of their own identity. Sometimes those icons just happen to be frilly, pink, lace panties.

"Oh!" I gasp, as the realisation dawns on me, and T-Bag winces, "so it's not so much something you have to do, but some_one_ you have to do."

"It ain't funny." He growls, and I sigh, shrugging and rolling back onto my bunk to stare at the ceiling.

"Never said it was."

"What would you do?" T-Bag asks, and for a brief moment I smile at the thought of him seeking my advice.

"If I were you I would do it." I tell him simply.

"You ain't the one that has to go through with it."

"No, I'm not," I agree, "but I'm not the one who has to get in their good books. You do this, then they really owe you one, you'll have pulled your weight and you've shown them that you can make sacrifices for the sake of someone else. I mean, you don't really have any friends on the team now do you?"

Silence settles over our small cell, and I know that I didn't tell him what he wanted to hear. I hear his weight shift as he pushes himself to the edge of the bunk, preparing to leave and follow through with what has been asked of him. A few seconds pass and his voice breaks through the enclosed space of the cell one last time, "That ain't right, I got you."

I smile, and pull my sheets up to my chin, nodding even though he can't see me, "Yeah, you've got me." 


	15. The Bigger Man

Days had been passing in a blur of panic and urgency, with Michael out of the picture maintaining the escape was more difficult than any of us could have anticipated, so when I hear the buzzer ringing out through GenPop, closely followed by a voice which announces "'_Schofield for readmission into GenPop_.", I am not the only person on my feet, poking my head out of my cell to watch Michael reappear and climb the stairs to his own bunk.

I hastily follow him, darting across the landing and making my way over to his open cell door, "Hey," I call, coming to a stop to the opening in the bars. He glances back at me and a smile splits across both our faces, "we were worried about you."

"I heard, Everything's back on track now though." He sighs, he looks tired. Segregation tends to do that to a person, you can see the exhaustion in their eyes and on their face when they return, no matter how long they have been away for. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too." I admit. The relief I am feeling is palpable. I hear some happy cries from beneath on the main landing, and glance down to see Sucre embracing a large man who I've come to learn is his cousin. After the issue of the underwear and filling in the hole Sucre also spent a brief time in the SHU and was once again getting reacquainted with life in Genpop.

"How's he treating you?" Michael asks, pulling my attention away from the happy embrace.

"Who?" for a second I am unsure what he's really asking about. Michael lowers his voice.

"T-Bag."

I nod, finally understanding, having forgotten about the friction between the pair of them during Michael's brief stint in the SHU. I then shrug, "Fine, he's looking out for me. He's keeping me safe."

"Safe?" There is a look of disbelief on Michael's face.

"Yes, safe."

"He's a murderer." Michael challenges, and I nod in agreement.

"Yes, he is. And so am I."

* * *

><p>I stand leaning against a grey brick wall, shoulder to shoulder with T-Bag while the sun beats down on us. I watch as a few inmates play basketball, the rest of the team around us, and glance over to see Michael and Sucre approaching, the pair of them embracing, finally reunited after their stays in solitary. I cannot help but smile as I watch the pair of them, but it quickly leaves my face when I hear T-Bags words cut through the air. "You all can sign each others year books later, where we at?"<p>

"The map is complete." Michael tells us cryptically.

"Then we're ready." T-bag says.

"Almost. I know which pipes we need to take beneath psych ward now." Michael explains, "which means our way to the infirmary is clear. But on our new route, we're going to come up on the far end of that building which means we got to walk down thirty feet of hallway to get to the doctors office. Our exit point. Which means there's only one piece left of this whole thing. The key to that room."

"No sweat. So all we got to do is run a bump and grab on a C.O, like we did last time, grab the keys, make a copy." C-note suggests. Michael inhales sharply. It is now that I notice a large, yellow bus pulling up just outside the wire mesh fence that surrounds the yard. I frown, wondering if it was a set of new fish.

"It's not that easy." Michael insists. The door the the bus slowly hisses open.

"How you fixing on getting it then, Pretty?" T-bag asks.

"Carefully."

"No more surprises this time, right?" C-note interjects.

"Right."

I am barely listening to the conversation as I watch the men disembark from the bus, I study each of their faces as they come off, all unfamiliar, all filled with fear. I watch as a tall man with cropped short greying hair steps off and I feel my stomach lurch. I push myself off the wall and rush forward to get a better look, "Oh my god," I whisper as the man glances around, each turn of his neck flashing the angry, red mark that is stretched across the skin of his throat. The shocked expression on my face twists, my lips pulling back as a smile matures, and I let out a delighted gasp, "Abruzzi."

* * *

><p>My knuckles are white as I grip the plastic tray in my hands, looking across the cafeteria to see Michael sit down across from John Abruzzi. I inhale sharply, and glance quickly at T-Bag who stands next to me, his own tray in his hand as he has it filled by the cafeteria worker in white mesh hair net. I clear my throat, getting his attention.<p>

"I'll be right back." I tell him plainly. His eyes narrow.

"Where are you going?" T-Bag asks, moving his tray along the line. I take a step back, knowing that this is the last thing that he wants me to do.

"I'm going to speak to John." I say quietly, before turning on my heel and marching purposefully away. Since John had returned T-Bag had been keeping me on a short leash, always by my side. Whether this was born out of insecurity or paranoia I was unsure, but I was not going to let T-Bag's neurosis keep me from Abruzzi.

"John!" I call as I approach, quickly rounding the table and placing my tray down next to Michael's.

"Ray?" He whispers, and as I look at his face I remember the last time that I saw him, when I was hidden by tight binding and a deep voice.

"Afraid the secrets out now," I sigh with a shrug. Abruzzi rises from the table, his expression of surprise turning quickly into one of joy, and he reaches out, pulling me in towards him in a tight embrace.

"Let her go immediately." I hear a gruff voice instruct, and Abruzzi pulls away. I look to see a young guard standing a few feet away, and I realise I have forgotten how closely I am being watched.

"Sorry." I murmur, taking a seat next to Michael.

"You look so…" Abruzzi starts, not in any way deterred by the sudden interruption of the C.O.

"Different." I suggest, "Lets go with different." It is then I notice how different John appears, not only is his hair shorter and there is now a vivid, angry red gash across his throat, but clutched in his hand is a small chain with a crucifix attached. I narrow my eyes and glance at Michael.

"So, how does the idea of escaping sit with the new you?" Michael asks him.

"Are you coming along on this endeavor?" Abruzzi asks me. I quickly nod, " The old sinner who was confined to these walls is dead. A new soul deserves to be free."

"The old sinner was going to have a jet ready for us, is the old sinner going to be able to pull that off?"

"Noah had his ark," John tells Michael, and I watch as he smiles with relief, "Let's pray." John instructs us quietly, solemnly lowering his head. I watch as his neck flexes and the angry scar that stretches fresh and pink across his skin smiles back at me. I exhale slowly, glancing over my shoulder to see T-Bag staring at us intently, murder in his eyes.

* * *

><p>The tension is thick and I know that the history of this building leaves scars on more than just the prisoner's skin. I stare through the bars from where I sit at the end of my bunk. As relieved as I am about Abruzzi's return the atmosphere changed the moment he stepped off the bus, suddenly T-bag was quiet, he was withdrawn, obviously having assumed that Abruzzi would never return after the attack, and the security that he had become accustomed to had just come crashing down around him.<p>

I glance through the bars of my cell down the length of the landing, and it is then I notice T-Bag walking with purpose. His face is set, his jaw clenched, and I narrow my eyes as I study his figure, pushing myself to the edge of my bunk.

I see it as he turns to move up the stairs to the second tier, where Abruzzi's cell is. There, clutched in his fist, is a glistening shank made from torn metal.

I jump from my bunk, and walk briskly across the landing, knowing I cannot run in case I attract attention from the guards. I come up behind him as I see him speeding up, approaching Abruzzi's cell. Without saying anything I reach out and grab his wrist, forcefully pulling him back. I hear his sharp intake of breath as he spins around, baring his teeth in anger. His eyes meet mine, and the tension leaves his body.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I growl under my breath, my grip still tight around his wrist, concealing the shank from the view of the guards.

"Ray-na, if you wanted a hug all you got to do was ask," he purrs, I narrow my eyes. "Look, I'm just settling the score."

"You are not going to touch him." I tell him bluntly, and he snorts, not impressed by attempt to be assertive.

"Oh really?" He laughs, moving to leave. I tug sharply on his wrist, causing him to stumble backwards. He exhales sharply, "You're stronger than you look."

"I know." I hiss between gritted teeth, "And I'm not letting you do this."

"Why not?"

"Because we need him." I tell him, being as pragmatic as possible, "Because he is our transport out of this place the moment we get over that wall."

"You think he's gonna let me hop on that little plane of his?" T-Bag's voice is dark now, and the question is a valid one.

"I will make him." I promise. "And where do you think you'll go if you attack him? You'll get stuck in the hole and you won't even have the chance to make it out." I watch as the tension leaves his body, grateful of this small reminder that at least to someone he is not excess baggage. He sighs slowly, and his grip loosens on the shank. I reach over with my other hand and take it, pocketing it discretely in the waistband of my trousers, releasing his wrist. He pushes gently past me, finally walking away.

T-Bag hesitates momentarily, turning and looking at me over his shoulder briefly, "You know, he killed my family, he tried to kill me first," He informs me, "He ain't no saint."

I glance back at Abruzzi who is laying in his cell, staring out at us from between the bars, unaware of how close he came to losing his life, "Then be the bigger man." I tell T-Bag plainly, turning on my heel to follow him back to our cell.

* * *

><p>I was still being subjected daily to rounds of cat calls and stares that would unnerve me deeply despite the over-reaching protection of T-Bag. As I walk down the aisle of the landing I can feel eyes on me, men leering from between their bars, going silent as I walk past. I am not what you would call the height of feminine beauty – with my face still bruised from the beating Bellevue and my hair still cropped short, springing from my scalp like freshly mown grass. The men in here do not care, with the lack of choice and what I lack between my legs, I am the most appetising thing some of them have seen in decades.<p>

I return hastily to my cell as the feeling of eyes on me begins to make my skin crawl, and as I swing round the bars in the door I am stopped short by the sight that greets me. There stands Abruzzi, arm outstretched and hand grasped around T-Bag's, the pair of them staring at each other. I see T-Bag's eyes wander to me, a smile flinching on his face.

"Truce." He says simply.

"You got it," Abruzzi replies, his back to me, "Truce." I watch as he releases T-Bag's hand and turns to leave, his gaze falling on me standing suspended in the doorway, my eyes wide with surprise. This is not what I expected to stumble across.

"Ray." Abruzzi sighs, and I nod, my eyes darting between them.

"Well this is nice to see." I admit, stepping into my cell. A grin begins to form on T-Bag's face.

"Yeah, s'sall sorted now Ray-na. You don't have to worry about us two anymore." T-Bag's smile is broad, but there is confusion written on Abruzzi's face.

"What are you doing here?" He asks me, and I frown.

"What do you mean?" I do not understand the question, taking another step inside and leaning against the bunk, folding my arms across my chest.

"Aw, you didn't know…" T-Bag purrs, his smile never moving. I am confused, and I look to T-Bag for an explanation, "You see me and Ray here, we're roomies." He moves and leans against the bed next to me, too close for Abruzzi's comfort.

"You're cellmates?" The question comes out slow, and there is understandable disbelief in his voice. I sigh, shooting a glare at T-Bag who is visibly relishing this moment, happy to have something, anything, to hold over John.

"Yes." I say calmly, "I landed in here when I got back from Bellevue. Fox River's overcrowded as it is, they can't be giving me a luxury room anymore."

"You can bunk with me." Abruzzi hastily offers, and I feel T-Bags body tense next to me.

"Excuse me, John?" T-Bag hisses, and I find myself reaching out, placing a hand on T's shoulder, trying to calm him down. His whole body is tight with anger, "You trying to steal her from me now? I thought we had a truce."

"If you touch her -" Abruzzi starts, his voice deep and guttural, but T-Bag interrupts him with a snide laugh.

"Now why would I do something like that?"

"T!" I snap, my eyes wide as he turns to meet them, not appreciating his purposeful antagonism. His smug smile falters and he takes a step backward. "John, it's alright. I'm fine here. He hasn't hurt me. He hasn't touched me."

"Told ya so." T-Bag mumbles, "I take good care of her."

I scowl and move in front of T-Bag to put a physical barrier between the two of them, "John, I'm fine." I reiterate. I can see the anger in his eyes as he tries to restrain himself, tries to believe me. My bruised face is not doing me any favours but I know John will not go through me to get to T-Bag. "Truce," I repeat his own words, hoping they can hit home, "remember?"


	16. Trapped

"Turns out you can run from just about anything in your life except your own particular stink." It is early in the morning and the entire PI crew is huddled around the wire mesh fence that lines the yard, our jacket collars pulled up high around our faces to protect us from the bitter wind. We stare out through the holes of the fence, watching sniffer dogs parade up and down the other side, our stomachs lurching with apprehension, T-Bag regaling us with the dangers of running from blood hounds.

"Yeah well some of us stink more than others." C-note spits back at T-bag, who turns round to face him, annoyance on his features.

"You can smell like a bouquet of bonbons, but unless you get rid of your smell you might as well send a note to the police with directions and some cab fare."

"Theodores right." Abruzzi interjects. He had been watching me closely ever since he discovered the identity of my cellmate

"We got to scrub down our cells." Michael tells us

"What about our bunks?" Sucre asks.

"Pillows, sheets, everything, either get rid of your smell or change it." T-bag explains.

"How much time we got?" C-note is eager, anxious to see his family again. Michael turns to Abruzzi.

"John?"

"3 days, that's a soon as I can get us into the guards room for P.I." John tells us.

"Good, so we're good to go." C-note states.

"I still have to figure out how to get through that door in the infirmary." Michael explains, "And how to get Linc out of that box." Lincoln had been thrown in the SHU the day before, none of us knew why – prison may be a hotspot for gossip but when it came to the fate of a death row prisoner the staff knew to keep their mouths shut.

"You can do that in three days?" Sucre asks.

"Three days should be plenty of time." Michael reassures him.

I look to my left and see Charles Westmoreland approaching, his body tense and hunched over, his hands dug deep into his pockets. He walks up to Michael, "We got to get out of here," his voice is low but the urgency is clear, "Now."

We all look at him, expecting an explanation. He inhales sharply, glancing cautiously at the guards, before turning back to us, "Bellick found the hold in P.I, I don't know he found it, he just did!"

"And the hole's just sitting there?" Sucre asks, panic was spreading through each and every one of us. The idea that all this work was for nothing, that we would be spending the rest of our lives in this dismal prison, was a daunting one.

"I covered it the best I could!" Charles insists, "But it's just a matter of time before someone discovers Bellick's missing!"

"What do you mean Bellick's missing?" Michael snaps.

"I couldn't just let him leave!" Charles looks pale and clammy as he tries to explain himself, "He'd seen the hole, so I hit him over the head and tied him up and gagged him, he's lying in the tunnel under the guards room."

"Okay, okay," Sucre interjects, "Fox River's a big place, maybe they won't notice for a while."

"Nothing happens around here without Bellick's say-so," C-Note points out, "Somebody's going to notice he's missing."

"And when they do they're going to lock this place down until they find him," Abruzzi groans.

"What are we going to do?" I ask, turning to Michael for guidance.

"As soon as it gets dark, we go," Michael tells us. I feel my stomach lurch.

"Tonight?"

"Pretty, we ain't ready to escape tonight," T-Bag points out.

"The escape's already started," Michael sighs, "It started the moment Bellick found that hole."

"And it's going to end the moment they notice he's missing." C-Note counters as we all fall into step behind Michael who is starting to make his way along the mesh fence.

"Then stay!" Michael snaps, "I'll be sure to read the papers in the morning, see how many years you got when they figure out which crew was working in that room, who dug that hole."

Everyone falls silent momentarily, considering our options. From the situation at hand the only option seems to get out as soon as possible, hoping that the work we have done so far will get us over the wall.

"So what's the play man?" C-note asks calmly, clearly having made up his mind.

"You think you can get that plane ready by tonight?" Michael asks Abruzzi.

"Sure."

"You have kitchen duty, right?" Michael asks C-note.

"Yeah."

"What did you use to scrub down the floors?"

"I think it was some peroxide or something." C-note murmurs.

"That'll work get as much as you can." Michael turns round to look at the rest of us, "I'll work on getting us that key to the infirmary, the rest of you find whatever you can to get rid of the scent in your cells."

"None of this matters if we can't get in the guards room." Charles reminds him.

"We're going to leave after dinner, during tier time when the gates are open, 7 o'clock, one by one, through my cell." He tells us.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" C-note interjects, "We were supposed to be going through the guards room ,that was going to give us a head start, we'd be gone hours before they even knew we were missing!"

"We leave through your cell we got no lead time!" T-bag exclaims, "7 o'clock comes to 8 o'clock that's only..."

"60 minutes." Michael interrupts, "60 minutes to get over that wall and as far away from here as possible."

"They'll be right on our asses!" Sucre cries. A guard starts screaming, telling us to shut up, that yard time is over. I purse my lips together and glance at Michael.

"They already are."

* * *

><p>I scrape my rake along the currently barren earth, watching as the seeds which have been scattered disappear beneath the disturbed soil. I glance up from beneath the woolen hate that is low on my face, seeing Abruzzi in the distance standing by a bag of fertilizer. He dips a hand in, grabbing a handful and stuffs it in his pockets. He catches my eye, nods at me, and I step towards the wheelbarrow with the large paper sack containing putrid smelling manure. I scowl as I dip my own gloved hand in, shoving some in my jacket pocket.<p>

I look up and slowly make my way back over to where I where I was raking in the fresh seeds for the lawn, which would sprout when the days finally become warmer. I see T-Bag walking past Abruzzi, his eyes narrow with hatred and anger. I sigh, finding Michael in my eyeline, and I make my way over to him.

"You need to watch out," I say quietly as I step over to him, ensuring that he can hear me with the unfortunate consequence of also having to smell me. I nod in the direction of Abruzzi and T-Bag, "You might have some trouble there."

"They both want you out of here." Michael tells me, "They'll behave until then."

"You would think so." I murmur, before reaching down and pulling the hem of my shirt up, revealing the twisted piece of metal I had taken from T-Bag the previous day, "I picked this off T-Bag yesterday. If I hadn't been there we wouldn't have our plane. I think I've settled things for now but I thought you should know there might be issues tonight." I pull the shank out of the band of my trousers, subtly handing it over Michael, knowing it would be safer with him.

"Ray!" I turn as I hear my name called and see Abruzzi standing with an empty paper sack in his hand, "Can you fetch some more?"

I nod, shooting Michael a meaningful look, before setting down my rake and making way over to the storage shed where the bags of fertilizer were piled high. I step inside, making my way over to the stinking heap of manure, and reached down, bending my knees and wrapping my arms around the heavy sack. I grip it tight, push upwards, and turn to make my way out of the shed.

As I turn, I notice that the door is closed. I hesitate, knowing that I left it open, knowing that there was no way for me to open the door when I was carrying such a heavy load. I step over to it, awkwardly bending down and attempting to pull on the handle. It doesn't move, I try again, grunting with the effort of supporting the weight of the sack, but again it remains stationary. I let out an exasperated groan, dropping the heavy bag at my feet and using both of my hands and my full body weight to pull against the door, and yet again, it does not move. I stop, frowning, suddenly remembering the last time I was in this position – trapped in a small storage shed.

"What is it now, T?" I ask, assuming that he has once again put me in here. I turn around, already realizing that I am not alone, and I see a man with broad shoulders staring at me from behind a stack of shelves. I narrow my eyes, and feel my heart jump.

It is not T-Bag.

The man I am looking it is taller, wider and younger than T-Bag. The grin on his face reveals his intentions before he even speaks, and his closely shaved head and mass of tattoo's that swim around his neck do not reassure me of my safety. He laughs at my question, and steps into full view.

"T-Bag ain't here, honey." He breathes with a low, dark voice, "It's just you and me now."

"Well, ain't that sweet." I spit out sarcastically, taking a step backwards so my back hits the door. I reach out, again feeling for the door handle, and pull. It is now I realise it is locked, I realise that this man is not acting alone, I realise that the door must be barred from the other side.

"That's what I thought." He sounds so self-satisfied and it makes my skin crawl. He steps towards me and my eyes begin the search the room, looking for any route out. The doors are not an option, but there are windows opposite me – and despite the wire mesh running through the panes of glass I can't help but think they are my safest bet for an escape, "You just got to share the love, you know. It ain't fair that T gets all the attention."

"Jealousy is not an attractive quality in a man." I spit out, searching now for an object heavy enough to shatter glass.

"Ain't got to be like that. You just got to be nice and I'll treat you right." He is only a few feet away from me now, and I watch as he shakes the jacket he is wearing off his shoulders, a look of greed on his face.

I cannot wait any longer, and I push myself off the door, sprinting across the store room, reaching down to grab a fire extinguisher that lays by the shelves that line the walls. My fingers only scrape against the black nozzle when I feel an arm snake roughly round my waist and I am pulled backwards. I was naïve to assume that because of his size this man would not be quick. I am pushed, and I hit the wall face first, the man's breath hot on the back my neck.

"Don't be stupid, there's nowhere to run to." He growls, using his body weight to pin me to the grey bricks. I inhale deeply, pulling my arms upwards, and I bring it down swiftly behind me, hitting him sharply enough in the ribs for him to stumble backwards. I spin round, seeing him doubling over to catch his breath, and I fling my foot upwards, my toes catching him between the legs.

There is a howl like a dying animal and he hits the floor. I use the opportunity to grab the fire extinguisher, raising it and bringing it down sharply on the glass of the window. There is a clang, but no crack. I raise my arms again, my blood pulsing in my ears, and hit the window with the red metal. Again, the noise rings out but the glass remains intact.

"You fucking bitch," I hear the man groan, and I turn to see him pushing himself up off the cement, his face flushed with pain. I grip the fire extinguisher tightly, and swing it towards him, aiming for the shining skin on his skull.

This time there is no noise but the soft thud of flesh against metal as he raises his arm, catching it before it connects with his scalp, and he rips my only weapon from my grasp, tossing it to the side as if it weighs nothing. "Girl, you ain't getting out."

"Fuck you!" I spit defiantly, the words escaping only seconds before he is running at me, head bowed and jaw clenched.

The first blow hits me in my stomach and I feel myself wretch as my knees give out. The second blow hits me in my chin and I am knocked backwards, my back hitting the floor as lights pop in front of my eyes. I am dizzy, but I am oriented enough to notice that he is on top of me.

I reach up, muscle memory kicking in, and my finger nails reach out for the soft tissue of his eyes. He is either too quick or my reflexes are too slow, and he jerks his head out of the way, my fingers only finding air. I am struggling to breathe and I realise he is sitting on my chest.

I grit my teeth and my hips lurch upwards, unbalancing him, my hands clawing at his neck – breaking skin but causing no lasting damage, "Stop fucking about!" He snarls, and my hands are pulled upwards, above my head, his face now leering down at me while my legs kick and thrash beneath him.

He restrains my wrist with one hand, now kneeling over me and giving me room to breathe. He reaches down and begins to tug at the waistband of my trousers, pulling them down to expose the prison issued boxers that Sucre had once been so avidly interested in.

I pull my thoughts together, take a deep breath in and raise one knee, pivoting my hips while he busily tries to pull my trousers off. For a second he thinks I am helping him, and he grins, his grip on my wrists loosening. I hook my foot around his ankle and my hips thrust upward, using his weight and throwing him off balance, causing him to topple over and me to follow, my hands free once more.

I stare down at his wide eyes as I curl my hand into a fist and plough it down into the curve of his temple. He cries out in shock and pain and I raise it again, reigning down my second blow.

I am too lost in my anger to notice that his hand is snaking across cement flow. I reign down my third blow, my fourth blow, the skin on the rise of his brown splits open and the scarlet liquid stains my knuckles.

I am too lost in the violence of my attack to see his hand grip the red metal of the discarded fire extinguisher. I can see his lips swelling after the fifth blow, I am no longer aiming my fists, instead they connect with whatever is in their way.

I do not see his knuckles whiten as he grips the metal hard, ensuring his grasp is secure. I am too distracted by the bubbles of blood that are escaping his mouth with every short, sharp breath.

And then it hits me. The metal of the extinguisher flies through the air, and there is a loud popping sound as pain explodes through the right side of my head. I gasp, I falter, and I fall. My body hits the floor, now slick with blood, with a wet thud, and I struggle to stay awake as the pain splits my skull in two. My eyes swivel in my skull, landing on the broken body of the man beside me, before the pain in my head and my knuckles are no longer enough to distract from unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>T-bag stands with his gloved hands wrapped tightly around the handle of his rake, his eyes darting from Abruzzi to Michael, a prominent scowl on his face. He sighs, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes searching for a familiar face, and his stomach lurches as he is not greeted by it. He was never comfortable with Ray out of his sight, he did not trust people, and he especially did not trust any of these men alone with her.<p>

"Pretty," He calls as he approaches Michael, "Where did you send Ray-na?" His voice is low but the tone is clearly one of concern. Michael's eyes move towards the storage shed, before they dart down to the watch strapped to his wrist.

"Abruzzi asked her to pick up some more fertilizer," there is reluctance to his tone, one that T-Bag was becoming accustomed to. T-Bag's scowl deepened, and he drops the rake in his hand, walking purposefully towards the shed.

"Where are you going?" Michael calls to him, but he ignores him. He strides round the corner of the grey bricked building, stopping short when he see's a broad shouldered prisoner standing in front of the blue metal doors.

"Hey!" He calls, the threat already in his voice. The prisoner looks up, and his eyes widen, "What are you playing at?'

"None of your business." He gruffly responds. T-Bag's eyes dart towards the door, seeing the wooden shaft of a rake stuff crudely through the door handles, bolting it shut. T-Bag's scowl twists, turning into a grin, and he flexes his neck, a crack echoing from his body as his joints slide over each other.

"Boy, it is my business, and if you don't run along I will put this rake here through your eye." T-Bag tells him through the teeth of his smile. The prisoner frowns, T-Bag's reputation preceding him, and suddenly there is a large clang that sounds through the metal doors. T-Bag's stomach drops and the prisoner in front of him inhales sharply, panic overtaking him. T-Bag reaches down to grab the rake, and before he manages to slide it free the prisoner turns, breaks into a sprint, and disappears around the corner.

T-Bag reaches forward, pulling the doors open, and steps quickly inside the shed. What greets him causes a wave of fear sweep over him, a fear so deep and so primal he does not remember the last time he has felt it. He steps forward cautiously, and as his eyes sweep over the bloody mess he is almost sure she is dead.

"Ray," he whispers her name, taking another step towards the blood scene. He holds his breath as he comes to a stop over the two mangled bodies at his feet. He clears his throat, studying the scene in front him – the blood, the bruises, the torn clothes. His heart rate begins to increase, and he is unsure if it is from fear or excitement.

It is then he hears it, a soft groan, a groan he would have missed had he allowed himself to breathe. His eyes widen, and he kneels down on the blood spattered cement, his hands reaching out to cup Ray's face.

"Ray!" He cries, before looking towards the door, "Boss, we need medical attention in here!" He calls, as loud as he can manage, knowing that a screw has to be somewhere nearby.

He cannot wait, not with the shallow breaths escaping Ray's lips, not with the blood that he can't identify as her's or the mess of a man who is lying next to her. He reaches down and cradles Ray's shoulders in one of his arms, his other arm reaching down and pulling Ray's trousers up to her waist, before snaking beneath her knees and raising her from the ground.

She is a dead weight in his arms, her head falling limply backwards as her limbs dangle freely. He makes his way towards the door, happy to feel her breath and heartbeat travel through his chest. There is a fresh poppy of a bruise beginning to bloom on her right temple, and with the scent of fresh blood in his nostril and the weight of her body in his grip he can't help but think; she looks so pretty when she's broken.

"T-Bag!" As the glare of daylight greets them he can hear Michael call him, and he turns to see the rest of the P.I crew dropping their tools and rushing towards him. Michael stops a few feet away, a look of despair on his face as his eyes take in Ray's beaten body, "What happened?"

"Some guy decided to take his chances," T-Bag says, nodding over his shoulder, and a strange smile of pride forms on his lips, "Didn't work out too well for him."

"Oh god." Michael whispers, running a hand over his head.

"What did you do to her?!" There is an infuriated cry and T-Bag spins around to see a C.O. rush towards him, seeing only the battered woman in his arms.

"What did **_I_** do to her?!" T-Bag challenges, his grip on Ray tightening, "I got her out of there. Where the hell were _you_?"

"Let go of her!" There is another cry, and T-Bag turns to see Abruzzi arriving, his face red with anger. Michael reaches out and grabs his shoulder, stopping him short.

"We need to get her to the infirmary." T-Bag says plainly to the C.O., who nods, "I'll bring her."

"No, you won't!" The C.O. countered, "You'll get back to work." T-Bag clenched his jaw, watching as another guard arrives to investigate the sudden commotion. He steps towards T-Bag with his arms outstretched, and T-Bag reluctantly and carefully passed Ray's limp body over to the guard. He did not want to let her out of his sight again.

"You may want to send someone in there to check out the other guy," T-Bag murmurs, motioning towards the doors of the shed, "She did quite a number on him."


	17. Saved

"Ray, Ray…" There is someone calling my name, pulling me out of my sleep, "Ray, can you please open your eyes for me?" I don't appreciate it, and I toss my head, trying to turn away from the noise of my name. I immediately regret it as pain splinters through my head and my eyes snap open.

I gasp, sucking it a lungful of air, and push myself upright, convinced I can feel the same heavy pressure on my chest from the man who had assaulted me. My head hurts, my stomach hurts, my hands hurt. There is an arm around me, trying to restrain me as my arms reach out, trying to free myself from someone who is not there.

"Ray." The voice is soft and firm, and I turn to see the kind face of a female doctor next to me, her arm wrapped around my shoulders. I am breathing heavily, my chest rising and falling dramatically with every breath, and I try to ignore the fear that has blistered through me veins. "Ray, I am Dr. Tancredi. You've been attacked."

"I- I remember." I manage to push the small words from my mouth as my eyes dart around the room, seeing the guard standing by the door, his face grave and serious.

"Do you mind holding still while I look at your eyes?" She asks.

"My eyes?"

"You sustained quite a head injury." She tells me, but this does nothing to ease my racing pulse. I nod, and hold myself steady while she produces a small torch from the pocket of her white coat, pouring the light into each of my eyes. "You might experience a bit of nausea, you have a slight concussion but it doesn't seem to be anything more serious than that."

"The man who did this…" I start, and a small smile appears on the doctor's face.

"That man is currently in the prison ward, he's a lengthy recovery in front of him." She tells me, and only now does my heart rate begin to calm down.

"Did the guards find me?" I ask. She shakes her head, reaching over and picking up a clipboard.

"One of your P.I crew found you," She explains as she produces a pen, scribbling on whatever piece of paper she has strapped to the board, "A man called Theodore Bagwell."

"T." I smile, a smile so wide and sincere that it hurts. There is some comfort in knowing that he found me, that he had been the one to help, that he had defied all expectations that people had of him. I clear my throat, suddenly impatient, "So when do I get to head back to GenPop?" I ask, aware of the urgency of this night.

Dr Tancredi looks at me carefully, as if trying to figure out whether or not my question was serious, "You don't." She says this plainly, as if I should have already known, "We're keeping you separate from the rest of the prisoners. You're staying in the infirmary tonight for observation, it's not safe in the prison ward. Then you'll be transferred to adseg and the Warden will arrange for you to be flown out of state."

"But-" I start, feeling my whole world come crashing down. I hesitate, glancing around the small room. I am sitting on an examination table, on the walls around me there are posters on health, on drugs and addiction, and to my right is a large, barred window.  
><em><br>"I still have to figure out how to get through that door in the infirmary." _Michael's voice rings in my ears and I suddenly realize that I am right where I am supposed to be.

"Look, you don't belong in here with these men." Dr Tancredi starts, trying to convince me that what is happening is for the best, "These men are predators."

"Some of these men have been keeping me safe." I try to point out, "but I know it's not realistic. It was never going to last." My eyes are now fixed on the door, examining the handle, seeing that it is able to be locked and unlocked manually from inside. I hastily look back down at my feet,

"This is for the best." She insists, and I nod. Trying to hide a smile. I am on the home stretch.

* * *

><p>I sit on the examination table, my knees pulled up to my chest, my eyes fixed on the clock. I had watched 6 o'clock come and go, and I can not help but let my mind linger on thoughts of the guys, wondering how they are doing, wondering if they have made it through the back of Michael's cell, whether or not they had got through to the psych wards. My gut was tied in a knot, forever expecting alarms to sound out through the prison, telling me of their capture.<p>

My eyes had momentarily flutter to the door, which consisted of white wood and framed glass, when I saw movement outside it. I had seen a large, cuffed prisoner with a shaved head, who I recognized as Michael's brother, Lincoln, being escorted to a room down the hall. How Michael had managed this transfer I did not know, but I did know that we were all in place, exactly where we had to be to succeed.

Eventually I hear commotion in the hallway. I tear my eyes away from the ticking second hand of the clock and look through the window, pushing myself to the edge of table. I cannot see anyone, and I hold my breath, silently praying that this is it, that they have arrived safely. A few more seconds pass and I see someone move in the corridor, a man in a large leather jacket appears from around a corner and my stomach lurches as I realise it is part of a guards uniform. I push myself off the table and step towards the door, finally seeing the man's face as a few more men appear in my line of sight, all of them wearing matching bright white jumpsuits.

"Michael." I whisper happily, rushing to the door and reaching out for the handle. With a simple twist the door is unlocked and I pull it open, watching a large grin spread across Michael's features. For a second he seems to forget himself and runs forward, wrapping his arms around my shoulders in a tight embrace.

"I thought you were dead." He whispers into my shoulder, and I hesitantly return the hug, letting out a quiet laugh.

"It takes a little more than that to kill me." I sigh, pulling away and examining the rest of the group who have come into view behind him. He moves past me into the room as my eyes search the corridor desperately, seeing familiar faces, but not the one that I want to see.

"Now we got to get that window out!" Michael exclaims, the urgency and excitement seeping into his voice, "Then we've got to get the bars off!"

I am not paying attention as the rest of the crew move past me, smiling at my apparently unexpected appearance, patting me on the shoulder to welcome my return. I frown as Abruzzi approaches, my eyes looking to him for answers. He stops and smiles broadly when he sees me.

"You gave us a scare there, kid." He sighs, but the relief is clear. I nod.

"Where is -" I start, but I am cut off by the sound of a man clearing his throat, I look again past Abruzzi to see T-Bag standing there, having walked round the corner into my line of sight and come to a complete stop a few feet away, his eyes fixed on me, a strange look of apprehension on his face. I smile, so bright and clear that I don't really need to speak to relay how I feel. I instinctively move forward, readying myself to embrace him. However I am stopped by Abruzzi who reaches out and grabs me by my shoulder, still determined to protect me in whatever way he feels fit.

I grit my teeth, not wanting to let anger cloud my judgment, and shake him off as T-Bag cautiously approaches. "Thank you." I tell him with all the gratitude I can manage poured into my voice. "Thank you." I repeat breathlessly, in case he didn't get my message.

He gives me a wry smirk, still aware of Abruzzi's presence, "Anytime, Ray-na." He tells me, "Ain't one to leave a man behind."

"We need to get to work." Abruzzi tells me with a dark tone to his voice, and I nod, my eyes not leaving T-Bag's until I turn around to see what we have to do to get out the window and across the wall.

I see Sucre working on the window ledge, pulling the panes of glass from the window to expose the bars that are the only thing standing between us and freedom. I get up beside him, reaching out and helping him dismantle the window frame. He has a contagious smile on his face and I find myself mirroring him.

"We are getting out of here." He hisses, both to himself and me, "This is actually happening!"

"Don't jinx it just yet." I warn him, although my grin betrays my real feelings about the situation. I have not thought too far ahead, but I know that if I am not out and over this wall I will be spending the next 30 years of my life in some dank, rat infested hole, with almost no contact with the outside world. This, by all accounts, is a blessing.

I hear footsteps and turn around to see Michael appear in the room, having left to retrieve what looks like a fire hose. He runs up and ties the hose securely to the bars, making sure that it is tied as tightly as he can manage, and runs back into the corridor. I dismount the ledge and take a step back, seeing a mattress and pillows laid out on the floor. This is a part of the plan that I am not familiar with.

"Get back!" I hear Abruzzi instruct from across the room and I put as much distance as I can between me and the window. I watch as suddenly the hose is pulled, going taught, and the metal of the bars begin to creak against the weight of whatever is pulling on it. Suddenly, the bars buckle, and the bolts that have been holding them in place can not longer handle the strain and fly from the wall, freeing the bars to go flying through the room onto the mattress and pillows, silencing what would have been a deafening sound.

"We're through!" Michael exclaims from the doorway where he stands. He runs to the window, bending over and glancing out at the thick piece of wire that runs across from the window frame to the wall, which is lined with curled barbed wire. Suddenly the room burst into life as everyone began to strip out of their white jumpsuits. I glance down at myself, still wearing a blood stained shirt and trousers from earlier.

"Hurry up guys, I need those suits!" Michael exclaims. I turn around and see most of the crew handing over their bright white suits, and then I see him. A man I do not recognise standing in the doorway, wearing the same fluorescent white as the rest of them, but his eyes are wide, his hair is unkempt, and something in my stomach tells me that what he is wearing is not a costume.

"I knew it!" He hisses, and this is enough to grab everyone else's attention. I look to Michael, wondering if he is familiar with whoever this prisoner is.

"Haywire." Michael says, and I assume this is the name he goes by, confirming my suspicions that he is a psych patient.

"I knew it! As soon as I saw you go into psych ward I knew it!" He announces while he glares at Michael. There is something in his voice that masks the triumph, and it is anger. I frown, wondering if there is history there, wondering what Michael has done to warrant such distaste. "Either I come with…" He threatens, and suddenly everyone takes a step forward just as he pulls up a radio, the exact same one that the C.O's use to communicate. "Or I'm going to make a little person-to-person call here."

"Haywire, just take it easy." Michael says with a calm and level voice. Haywire ignores him.

"The other person being, uh, a correctional officer?" Haywire clarifies.

"He's in." Lincoln announces suddenly, turning to move towards the window.

"What do you mean he's in?" Abruzzi snaps, grabbing a hold of Lincoln who easily pushes him off, being significantly broader than any other man in the room. He climbs onto the window frame, no longer having the patience for any more hold ups.

"Okay after Lincoln we go alphabetically." Abruzzi announces.

"Hey, hold on, **_A_**bruzzi!" C-note calls out.

"You want a seat on that plane?" Abruzzi challenges and C-Note goes quite.

I watch as Lincoln pulls himself onto the rope, latching on with his hands and his ankles. Abruzzi hastily piles the white jumpsuits onto him, and he begins to make the lengthy climb across the wire to the wall at the other side. I glance over to see Michael checking his watch as Abruzzi makes the slow crawl towards the fence. Eventually he reaches it, and uses the pile of white jumpsuits to squash down the razor wire, giving us safe access to the other side.

The next to go is Abruzzi, and as he climbs onto the wire we can all hear the audible creak as it strains beneath his weight. He makes it across safely.

The next to go is Sucre, and as he reaches out to grab the wire I hear and groan, and I turn around to see Charles Westmoreland double over next to the far wall, before his knees give out and he collapses. I rush over to his side, kneeling down beside him as Michael and C-note joins me.

"Are you okay?" I ask him breathlessly. He is pale and there is a faint film of sweat across the skin of his face. He shakes his head.

He lets out a forced and difficult "No.". I glance down to see his that there is red staining on the grey jumper he is wearing.  
>I reach out and gently take his jumper by the hem, "Let me take a look." I say gently, before prying the soaked material away from his skin, revealing a mess of tissue and blood. I feel my heart sink and look at Michael, whose eyes are filled with desperation.<p>

"It's just a few more steps, you can make it!" Michael insists. I frown, and shake my head, knowing that right now simply remaining conscious is a challenge for this man.

"Michael -" I start, my voice gentle but my tone grave.

"I could make it another foot," Charles Westmoreland groans, "Maybe two. But why? I've got nothing going for me. I was going for my daughter, but you can do that. Will you promise me?"

"Yes, I promise." Michael says with a nod.

"The money, buried, at a silo, at the double K ranch just outside of Tooele, Utah. There's plenty to split." Westmoreland continues and my eyes widen with confusion. He is struggling to find the breath to speak. "The government didn't want any more embarrassment after I took off with the money, so they low balled it to the papers, the truth is Michael, it's not one million under than silo, there's five million dollars there."

I inhale sharply and my face drops, glancing over my shoulder quickly to see T-Bag, staring at Charles, scratching the side of his head, and I know that he has heard.

"Give Anna her papa's love." Charles begs Michael, his voice hoarse with effort. I feel tears begin to sting my eyes and I blink them back.

"I will!" Michael promises, his hands clasped around Charles's as he struggles for breath. I see T-Bag disappear out of the window, C-Note standing and waiting behind him.

"Charles, hang on," I whisper to him, knowing if he can survive until a C.O arrives he may have a chance. I stand up and hastily grab the pillow from the examination table, propping it up behind his back, "Here, look, you just got hold on a little longer." I whisper to him.

"Ray," Michael hisses, and I turn to look at him, "You need to get out of here, you should go next." He tells me. I nod reluctantly, looking back at the old man in front of me, barely able to keep his eyes open.

"Okay," I say quietly, pushing myself up from the ground and taking a step towards the window. I take one last look at Charles before I push myself up onto the ledge of the window and stick my head through. The wire is taught against the wall and I reach up, grabbing hold of it with my two hands before using what limited strength I have to pull the rest of my body parallel with it, latching my ankles around each other.

It is a freezing cold night and I can see my breath in the air as I drag myself across the wire, my joints stiff as the cold settles in, and I try and tighten my grip to compensate. I am still aching from the beating I took earlier in the day, and as I pull my body weight along the line I can feel every single one of my muscles strain.

I eventually make it to the other side, and Lincoln reaches out to steady me as I drop down from the wire. He pats on the shoulder, sending me in the direction of the rest of the crew who have disappeared down the other side of the wall. I grab a hold of the pole facing me and start my descent to freedom.


	18. Teammates

_Let me go._  
><em>You know I'm not one for leaving.<em>  
><em>You know I'm nothing without your love<em>

I can hear the sirens, I can hear the dogs barking and the police officers shouting urgently to each other as they climb into their squad cars, the flashing blue and red lights spinning and casting shadows of trees over our hunched bodies. We are hunkered down in a ditch, our eyes peeking out over the shelf of dirt, the smell of damp earth pungent and clinging to our skin. We are all finally outside, and we watch and wait as the police load up their cruisers, finally alerted to the escape that is in progress.

"Come on man, we got to roll." C-Note hurriedly whispers to Michael. We are all itching to start running, staring at the men who are hunting us is only making us more desperate to put as much distance between us and them as possible.

"We don't have to do anything but wait right here, and let them get ahead of us." Michael tells him.

"I don't know if we're going to get a chance Papi." Sucre murmurs and I look out through the branches of the trees to follow his eye-line, "Dogs."

"Coming right for us." Michael mutters under his breath, "Nobody move." We all stay completely still, our muscles tense and trembling in the cold. I hold my breath as the dogs are led by two police officers into the back of a truck where they are locked into cages.

"They can't smell us." Michael announces. Right on cue the dogs start barking menacingly and with such force that their cages shake.

"But they can see us!" Abruzzi is quick to point out as the policeman notice the raucous noise coming from the dogs, flicking their flashlights on to see what has caught their attention. We do not waste time, and instead we turn and sprint quickly through the trees. Our feet fall down heavily on the soft earth, and I am surprised at just how dark it is outside, my arms raised in front of me to protect my face from the branches and twigs that reach out to break my skin. I follow blindly, trying to keep my focus on the vague shapes of the other prisoners in front of me.

We eventually reach a barbed wire fence, Abruzzi stopping me short before I run into the twisted metal. I watch as the men duck beneath it, and I follow, Lincoln holding the wire out of place so we can all make it through without trouble. I start off into the dark night almost immediately, noticing a few guys lagging behind, but not wanting to waste any time when I can be putting distance between me and the prison.

"Ray!" I hear a shout in the distance and I glance over my shoulder, seeing Abruzzi coming up behind me.

"What?" I snap, "I don't want to fall behind!"

"You have to stay with me!" He hisses, coming up by my side and reaching out, finding my wrist in the dark. I grit my teeth, feeling his fingers grasping me securely, pushing ahead of me and dragging me along behind him as if I am a young child that might wander off .

"This isn't necessary" I call out to him as we run through the darkness.

"Yes, it is." He calls back. I can see a shed up ahead where the outlines of the rest of our group seem to have congregated, "I helped get you out, I'm keeping you out."

We come to a stop next to the rest of the group, Sucre appearing agitated, his eyes darting about in the dark as if searching for something. "Where the hell's the van?"

"Where the hell is the van?" C-Note reiterates. I look to Michael, whose smirk is visible in the pale light.

"Ye of little faith." He says smugly, before turning and searching the area, looking for signs of any life other than us. He hastily motions for us to follow him as he darts towards the shed. We follow suit, disappearing behind the large wooden walls and finding a blue van discreetly parked and out of sight. I grin, unable to contain my excitement with the adrenaline surging through my veins.

I move to climb into the back of the van with the rest of the guys, seeing T-Bag climb in, glancing back at me as I stand suspended in the doorway. I move instinctively to sit beside T, reaching out to steady myself. Suddenly there is a hand around my wrist and I turn in time to see Abruzzi coming up behind me, pulling me forcefully into the seat next to him, behind T-Bag.

"What did I tell you?" Abruzzi mutters under his breath as the rest of the men climb into the van, slamming the door shut behind us. I turn to face him, my mouth a straight line, and try my best to contain my anger.

"You worry too much." I whisper.

The whole van shakes as we pull out of the barn and out onto a dirt road, feeling every bump that the wheels roll over. Eventually a street sign flashes in front of us as we leave the forest, hitting a much better paved road.

T-Bag sits in front of us and cranes his neck, turning his head to speak to Abruzzi, "John, I got to ask you why you so intent on Lincoln driving here, and you taking that particular seat?" I turn to see Abruzzi's back straighten as his hand slides beneath the seat.

"Ray." I hear T-Bag say my name, and turn to face him. His hand is raised over his shoulder, open and inviting, and without thinking twice, almost reflexively, I reach out to grip it. His hand is rough, and his fingers curl around mine as I see Abruzzi move next to me.

I turn, and I see a gun. "No!" I cry out as Abruzzi leans forward to put the pistol in his hand against the skin of T-Bag's skull. Before the trigger is pulled I hear a click, and T-Bag's grip relaxes just as I feel a sliver of metal tug on the skin of my wrist.

"What the hell are you doing?" It is Michaels voice this time and I turn to see that latched around my wrist is the glimmering metal of a handcuff. I follow the small chain and see that the corresponding bracelet is locked around T-Bag.

"You think that will stop me?" John snarls, and my eyes widen.

"John!" I cry again, just wanting him to put the gun down.

"Think twice, Johnny boy." T-bag hisses, "You shoot me and Ray will be dragging round 170 pounds of dead Alabama flesh with her, and considering how attached you are to her I don't think you're gonna pull that trigger."

"No." John said simply and I see him cock the gun, his finger readying on the trigger.

"Don't you dare!" I cry out again. Michael leans forward in the seat in front of me, his hands patting down T-Bag

"Now you're going to give me the key to those cuffs T-bag." Michael growls, his hands dipping into T-Bags pockets and I feel panic rising in my chest, hot and viscous. I then see it, a small glimmer of metal falling out the folds of T-Bag's pockets.

I reach forward, grabbing a hold of the small key before Michael has even had the chance to see it. I raise it up, staring at it, T-Bag turning to meet my eyes. By now Michael has seen it clasped in my fingers, and he inhales sharply.

"Take them off," he instructs calmly. My eyes do not leave T's as my finger tips turn white, the key leaving an impression on my flesh.

"Ray-" Abruzzi starts, the barrel of the gun still flush with T-Bag's skull.

I smile at T-Bag, as broadly as I can manage, before opening my mouth, placing the key on my tongue, and swallowing hard.

"Spit it out!" Michael screams, lurching forward to grab me by my shoulders.

"Spit it out!" Abruzzi mimics Michael, but the barrel of his gun does not move. It is too late, I can feel the jagged edges move uncomfortably down my throat. T-Bag's eyes are wide, staring at me with a look of total disbelief.

"There is no way," I choke out, my voice hoarse, "That I am letting you kill him."

"You stupid bitch." Abruzzi mutters, removing the gun from T-Bag's head, and I let out a slow sigh of relief.

"We can settle this in Mexico." Michael mutters, and I smile, my arm hanging over the back of T-Bags seat, his hand latched to mine by cold metal.

* * *

><p>"We got trouble!" The van had fallen into a tense silence after Abruzzi came close to murdering T-Bag, and we had driven for some time with no one making a noise. I had been sitting with my head resting on the seat in front of me, avoiding looking at Abruzzi, my eyes shut as I felt every pothole we drove over. However my head snaps up as Lincoln's voice echoes throughout the small, cramped space. We all look out through the window to see the flashing lights up ahead, signaling a road block.<p>

"We've got to get off this road!" I hiss.

"Is there another way to the airstrip?" Lincoln asks.

"This is the only road." Michael answers.

"Well, lets run this bitch!" Tweener suggests, and I feel myself roll my eyes.

"Somebody shut him up or I will." C-Note threatens.

"Can we go back?" Sucre suggests.

"That won't do us any good." Michael tells us, "It'll only get us farther from where we need to be."

"Which means we got to bust this road block." Lincoln groans.

"Maybe not. We've just got to try and go around." Lincoln quickly takes Michael's advice, putting the van into reverse and spinning the car around, driving onto a dirt road that leads into the forest once more, the van bouncing as it tries to tackle the terrain.

"We're going to get those cuffs off you." Michael tells me. I shrug.

"Gonna have to wait for me to crap the key out." I challenge him. While normally I hold a very high opinion of Michael, I have other priorities, "No one else is dying tonight."

Suddenly the van hits a particularly deep pothole, and every passenger of the van bounces towards the road, Michael striking his head painfully against the metal – not having been quick enough to shield his scalp from the blow.

As the van crashes down it comes to a halt. We can hear Lincoln pushing against the gas pedal, the wheels spinning beneath us but the van remains stationary. The whole car vibrates as the wheels whirr, but it quickly becomes apparent that there is nothing that can be done.

"We're stuck." Lincoln announces eventually, exasperation in his voice.

"Everybody out!" Michael orders, opening his door and jumping out into the dark. I clamber over the seats, the metal cuff pulling me out into the cold air, and my feet the mud. I shiver, glancing around as Michael leans down takes the corner of his truck in his hands, T-Bag pulling me behind the van so we can add our own leverage. We grab the bumper, we bend our knees and we lift with every fibre of strength in our bodies. The wheel whirrs angrily, spinning mud up into our faces, but the van is not moving.

"This thing ain't going nowhere!" Sucre announces, just re-iterating what we were all already thinking.

"How far is the air strip?" Lincoln asks as he gets out of the van, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Maybe two miles." Michael tells him.

"What the hell are we waiting for? Let's move!" The urgency is thick in Abruzzi's voice as he begins to head down the dirt path.

"We don't break those cuffs, we aren't going make ten feet." Michael points out. I feel my body tense.

"We'll manage." I growl. "We don't have to leave someone behind in the dirt to get shit done."

"We're teammates." T-Bag spits defiantly.

"Okay, let's go!" Lincoln cries, far more concerned with putting distance between us and the police than who is chained whom.

I feel rough skin against the palm of my hand, and glancing down I realize that it is T-Bag, reaching over and lacing his fingers between mine, gripping me tightly. He meets my eyes, nodding purposefully, and without missing a beat we break into a sprint down the dirt path in pitch dark, our feet falling in unison on the soft ground.

We are only running for a few moments when we hear it behind us. The distinct, obnoxious whirl of a helicopter blade, it's light spilling across the trees that line our path. I can hear Lincoln screaming somewhere close by, yelling 'Go!' as he desperately tries to keep out of the chopper's line of sight. All I can focus on is the steam of my breath, the sound of my heartbeat and the grip I have on T's hand, making sure neither of us falls behind.

Suddenly we come to a halt, abrupt and dramatic, and dust flies into the air while we scrape our feet against the ground, trying to put a halt to the momentum we have gathered. There is what appears to be a sharp drop in front of us, a few of us coming too close to tumbling down the ledge.

"What now?" Sucre hisses, "What do we do now Michael?"

"I don't believe this." Lincoln groans, as the whirring grows louder. I turn my head, craning my neck to see the helicopter in the distance.

"We have to do _something_." I insist, knowing that we are entirely exposed.

Suddenly Michael jumps, and I almost cry out in panic as he disappears over the edge. It is only when I step forward, wondering why we had not seen him tumble to bottom of the steep hill, that I see there is a small overhanging ledge beneath us, giving us the exact type of shelter we need.

Everyone immediately crouches down and slides beneath the large slab of rock that will shield us from the beam of the helicopter. I steady myself on the ledge and ease T-Bag down underneath ahead of me, trying to balance with one free hand as the chain tugs painfully on the skin of my wrist.

I slide down behind the rock just as the light catches it, casting a dark shadow over the dirt in front of us. I let out a small breath I didn't realise I had been holding, and wait for the deafening sound of the helicopter blades to pass.

"It's coming back y'all!" C-note announces, his eyes peering over the ledge, "Make yourself small!"

I crouch, pulling my knees as tight up to my chest as I can manage. One of my arms is wrapped tightly around my legs, while my other is outstretched, my hand dangling from the taught chain.

"There's no way we're going to make two miles like this!" C-Note cries out over the loud whirring of the helicopter, "Especially with that bird up there!"

"We are if I've got something to do with it!" Sucre tells us with confidence in every word. I look over and see him staring intently down the slope of the hill. I follow his gaze and see an abandoned car sitting next to a small shed, just where the land levels out beneath us.

We do not have the luxury of time, and within seconds we are descending the steep hill as quickly as we can imagine with out tumbling over ourselves. Sucre sprints over to the car, ducking hastily into the drivers seat. The closer we get to it the more apparent it becomes why this car was abandoned; it is a total piece of junk.

"What are you planning to do with that anyway?" Lincoln asks as we regain our footing and catch our breath.

"Hot-wiring is my speciality!" He announces with pride.

I inhale deeply into my lungs and feel fresh air flood my body. The rest of the team begin to dissipate, using this opportunity of quiet to catch their breath, to get some form of rest before we are running once again. I turn to T-Bag, whose face is lit dimly by the moon.

"Let's sit down." I say simply, only now realising how the muscles in my legs and chest are burning. He nods, but he looks preoccupied, there is tension on his face that had not been there earlier. I lead him over to the side of a small lake, and take a seat on what appears to be a discarded pipe.

"Hey!" I hear Abruzzi call and I glance over my shoulder to see him lurking a short distance behind us, "Don't you two be disappearing!" He warns and I can't help the eye roll that creeps up on me. I look back at T-Bag, whose eyes are trained on the still water in front of us, acting as if he had not even heard Abruzzi call to us.

"This was pretty stupid of me, right?" I ask, trying to snap him out of it. He blinks, and turns to me. I raise my wrist, demonstrating the chain linking us.

"It wasn't stupid." He tells me plainly. I breathe out slowly, watching as some thought plays on his face.

"Ray-na…" He starts.

"Yeah?"

"After tonight, I mean, if we make it. If we get to mexico an' all." He looks at his feet, "I want you to stick with me."

I breathe in sharply, my eyes widening, "Oh," is all I can manage at first, "Seriously, I always thought of you as a loner?"

"Well, I ain't." T-Bag's voice is sharp, and I realise he thinks I am making excuses.

"Well, I'm not one to chain myself to someone if I don't mean it." I say softly, and I smile, hoping he doesn't think I'm joking. "T, you're stuck with me. Literally. Tonight, tomorrow, here and in mexico. I ain't going anywhere if you don't want me to." He looks shocked, and I shrug, staring back out at the water, "We're teammates, remember?"

* * *

><p>"What do you mean it won't start?" Michael cries as we all crowd around the car, Sucre getting out of the driver's seat with a look of despair on his face.<p>

"There's no engine." Lincoln tells us, "The car's been gutted"

Once again we hear the sound of helicopter blades ripping through the night air. "We need to get inside." Michael announces, knowing that our options are running dangerously short. We turn and survey the landscape, seeing a large barn further on up the hill.

We hurtle through the trees, wasting no time as we climb up the hill, dirt falling away beneath our feet. I am gasping for air as my legs fight against gravity, my hand clasped firmly around T-Bags as he uses his strength to pull me along, not letting me lag behind him as my muscles cramp.

We tear into the barn where the rest of the team are waiting, a disused car laying in the centre of the room. I look around as I gulp in air, trying my best to catch my breath as a stitch rips through my diaphragm. T-Bag's hand is still firmly gripping mine when I hear the sound of the door slamming shut. I scowl, turning my head to see Lincoln behind us.

"What's going on?" T-Bag asks, but before anyone answers Lincoln runs up behind him and with a load roar he grabs T-bag by the shoulders and pulls him over the bonnet of the car, bending him over and pinning him down. My body follows involuntarily, the sudden pull stretching my shoulder and I let out a hiss of pain as I stumble over beside him.

I glance over to see Sucre come up behind us, a pair of wire fence cutters in his hands. While T-Bag is pinned in place I am still free, and immediately I movedin front of him, my body shielding the handcuffs, one arm outstretched.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" I hiss.

"Ray, we have to. We're not going to get anywhere like this." Michael tells me calmly, stepping towards me.

"Then leave us." I spit out.

"You know we're not going to do that." Abruzzi interjects, and I feel my face flush red with anger and panic. Michael moves quickly, darting over and grabbing me around my shoulders, pulling me out of the way, giving Sucre easy access to the chain linking me to T-Bag. I struggle as Michael reaches around and holds my arm still, making it easier for Sucre to place the metal links between the sharp edges of the fence cutters.

I hold my breath as he pushes down with all his strength, gritting his teeth, the muscles in his arms and neck visibly tensing. Nothing happens, no sound of the chain breaking, no sudden freedom. I breathe a sigh of relief as Sucre shakes his head, removing the pliers.

"It ain't going to work" Sucre spits angrily. T-Bag grins, and his smile turns into a laugh, his cackle echoing throughout the barn. I feel myself let out a quiet, giddy laugh of relief myself as his eyes lock with mine.

"We're just meant be, Ray-na." He tells me gleefully. And I smile broadly, nodding in agreement before my eyes just about managing to spot Abruzzi in my peripheral.

He has an axe.

I hear T-Bag gasp, and I feel the horror before I have even processed it. I watch Abruzzi raise the axe, and I feel Michael's grip on me tighten – knowing full well what I want to do in that moment. My eyes widen, and my mouth opens, but no sound comes out as the axe comes down, as the blade slices through the air, through flesh, through bone, and striking metal. There is a scream that rips my heart in two, and the resistance on my wrist is gone.

He falls slowly the ground in front of me, and tears have sprung to the corner of my eyes. I violently shake out of Michael's grip, tearing his arms from my shoulders, and I rush to T-Bags side. I feel my legs give out, no longer able to support this weight. He is moaning, he is sobbing, he is bleeding.

"He's lucky I didn't take it to his head." Abruzzi spits.

I feel the vitriol mix with tears in the back of my throat and turn to face him, "**SHUT UP**!" I roar. I turn, looking back down at him, reaching out the hand with the blood stained cuff still latched on the wrist. I place it on his shoulder as he whimpers, the bloody stump where his hand used to be clutched to his stomach, blood pooling on the concrete floor.

"You cut his… You cut his…" Sucre is stammering in horror, watching as T-Bag writhes in pain. I dig my fingers into the material of his shirt, trying to stifle the sobs, trying to bury the panic that is mounting as I watch the blood drain from him.

"Sucre, shut up." Lincoln hisses, and the place falls silent, with the exception of the weak cries seeping out of T-Bag's throat.

"Hello?" We hear an unfamiliar voice call from outside, the owner of the barn having heard the commotion and come out to investigate "Hello?" The voice comes again, along with the sound of a shot gun being cocked. I bite down on my trembling lower lip, trying not to cry as T-bag tries to stifle his own moans.

A few minutes of silence pass before we are comfortable that whoever had come to investigate had decided to leave. "Come on, let's go." Lincoln announces as he slides the barn door back over. My eyes widen and I turn to stare at the rest of the group, shaking my head.

"I'm not leaving him!" I hiss, a tear rolling down my cheek, my hand still latched onto his shoulder.

"Ray, come on!" Michael insists as the rest of the guys file out into the dark.

"He'll bleed to death." The statement comes out in choked sobs, the reality setting in. He is still whimpering, he is still alive, there is still a chance. "I can't leave him here to die."

"Ray, don't be stupid!" Michael shouts, urgency in his voice. I shake my head again.

"Not without him." I say simply.

Michael does not listen, instead he rushes over to my side, reaches down and grabs me around my shoulders, hauling me upright. I claw at his arms, wriggling and squirming in his grip as he tries to restrain me. "Get off me!" I bellow, no longer caring about attracting attention to ourselves, no longer caring about freedom, "I'm not leaving without him!"

"Well, I'm not leaving with _you_!" Michael cries defiantly, adjusting his grip and wrestling me away from T-Bag as I kick and pull. He wraps an arm around my waist and suddenly my feet aren't on the ground anymore. I let out a pained cry, tears staining my chin, and as the night air greets me I reach out and grab a hold of the barn door.

"T!" I cry out, and I see his eyes rise from where his discarded, detached hand lies. They lock with mine and I cannot breathe.

"Ray-na…" He murmurs, his voice soft but clear enough for me to hear, "Don't - " but I my grip fails me and my hands slide off the wooden door, and I am dragged back into the night with Michael.

* * *

><p>"Hurry up!" Michael yells at me, his hand gripping my wrist firmly, tugging me through the trees, "We're behind." I can barely breathe, each breath is accompanied with a sob, my whole body is shaking.<p>

"Do you want to get caught?" Michael snarls as we notice the rest of the guys up ahead, making their way through the trees.

"Honestly." I whisper, "I don't care."

We catch up eventually, but find ourselves slowing down, creeping through the bushes beside the road as police cars drive past us, their spinning lights casting strange images across the ground. Michel stops and crouches down, peering through the branches of trees as we all crowd round him, awaiting our next set of instructions.

"The air strips on the other side of that field," He explains, "500 yards and this will all be over." We glance up at the police car sitting a few feet away from us.

"He's not moving." Sucre hisses.

"Every second we stay here is another chance for them to find the plane!" Abruzzi tells him. At this point his voice makes my skin crawl, the sight of him makes my vision turn red, the anger I feel is entirely insatiable. Abruzzi moves to get up and run, but Michael stops him

"Wait, wait." He insists, as another police car drives past. It disappears down the road and out of sight, Michael nods, "Alright, let's go!"

We all spring up from where we had been hiding, running through the wide field that is the only thing between us and our guaranteed freedom. C-note falls and hastily picks himself up, his feet treading through the grass easily as we approach the air field. Excited looks erupt on everyones face, but mine remains unchanged, the prospect of freedom having been horribly tainted.

"Freeze, don't move." I hear someone call through a megaphone. I stop for a split second, turning around to see a police car, signalling its arrival with its colourful lights. I scowl, wondering whether to continue on when Michael comes up behind me and gives me a hasty shove, making sure that in my grief I would not give up.

We are close to the air strip when we notice the airplane, the lights bright, the engine whirring.

"I can see it!" Sucre happily cries, I just continue on running, my legs moving systematically without thought, only able to focus on the most basic mechanics of the situation. Then the sirens blare through the night, not just one police car now, coming up on the road beside us as we run as fast as we can manage. The airplane is moving now, letting out the high pitched whirring sound as it turns around, positioning itself on the runway for take off.

"We're almost there!" Lincoln shouts encouragingly. 500 yards have never seemed so long. My legs hurt, my lungs hurt, and every muscle in my body seems to be on fire.

We eventually reach the air strip, our feet thudding on the concrete as we run in front of the now moving plane, stopping in its path, watching as it roars towards us.

"Hey!" Everybody else yells, jumping up and down, waving their arms in the air, hoping that they would be noticed. I sigh and bend over, taking in short ragged breaths, realising that this is a losing battle where I have no investment in the outcome. There is no point.

There is a loud roaring noise as the plane lifts off and flies right over us, the noise deafening as it casts a brief shadow before it disappears. I lift my head up, watching as its flashing lights move along the night sky. "No!" Michael cries in despair

"What do we do now?" Sucre asks Michael, all of us staring at the flashing blue and red lights of the fast approaching police cars, their sirens blaring.

"We run."


End file.
